THE    TYRANT 


THE   TYRANT 


BY 

MRS.  HENRY  DE  LA  PASTURE 

Author  of 

1  Peter's  Mother,"  "  Deborah  of  Tod's,"  "  The  Lonely  Lady  of  Grosvenor 
Square,"  "  Catherine's  Child,"  etc.,  etc. 


O  Richard,  6  man  rot, 
L'univers  fabandonne! 


NEW  YORK 

E  P  •  BUTTON  &  COMPANY 
31  West  Twenty-Third  Street 


Copyright,  1909 
BY  E.  P.  BUTTON  &  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    ANNETTE  UNDER  THE  CEDAR i 

II    ANNIE  AMONG  THE  PRIMROSES 25 

III  THE  PARSON  IN  THE  VILLAGE 41 

IV  THE  GRANDMOTHER  IN  THE  COTTAGE      ....  61 

V  THE  BOLT  FROM  THE  BLUE 81 

VI  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR 101 

VII    RICHARD  AT  HOME 118 

VIII    ANNIE  IN  THE  HOSPITAL 133 

IX  RICHARD  IN  LONDON 147 

X  THE  DEED  IN  THE  Box 164 

XI    MR.  TURLEY  IN  His  OFFICE 186 

XII    ANNETTE  IN  LONDON 202 

XIII  SOPHY  IN  HER  ELEMENT 223 

XIV  ANNIE  IN  PARADISE 239 

XV    MRS.  EYEWATER  ON  THE  WATCH 257 

XVI    MR.  CANTRILL  AT  ST.  NEVYNS 275 

XVII    CYNTHIA  AND  PERINA  GROWN  UP 295 

XVIII    COURTENAY'S  LONG  VACATION       316 

XIX  CORNEY  WITH  THE  LETTER 334 

XX    THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING 345 

XXI    THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  GARDEN 363 


THE  TYRANT 


THE  TYRANT 

CHAPTER  I 

ANNETTE    UNDER    THE    CEDAR 

THE  village  of  Llanon,  though  containing  scarcely  a 
hundred  inhabitants,  formed  a  little  world  complete 
in  itself. 

It  lay  cradled  among  the  hills  of  the  Welsh  bor- 
derland; the  situation  was  sheltered  and  the  water 
supply  all  that  could  be  desired;  sometimes  more  than 
could  be  desired,  for  in  autumn  and  winter  the  clouds 
often  floated  below  the  level  of  the  hill-tops,  and 
shrouded  the  dripping  woods  that  clothed  the  hill- 
sides; the  rain  was  incessant,  and  the  mountain 
streams  swelled  into  torrents,  while  the  mountain 
lanes  became  merely  channels  which  served  to  con- 
vey the  overflowing  waters  to  the  river  in  the  valley 
below. 

But  Llanon  lay  facing  the  south,  so  that  it  received 
also  a  full  share  of  the  sunshine  which  blesses  the 
mild  climate  of  the  west;  and  if  the  rainfall  were  ex- 
cessive, yet  it  increased  the  fertility  of  the  soil  and 
promoted  the  rapid  growth  of  timber.  The  inhabit- 
ants were  seldom  heard  to  complain  of  it. 

I 


2  THE  TYRANT 

The  village  was  old  and  picturesque.  Time 
seemed  to  have  passed  it  by.  It  looked  down  dis- 
dainfully upon  the  railways  and  the  traffic  of  the 
lower  levels. 

Automobiles  occasionally  surprised  it  by  climbing 
the  hills,  but  the  narrow  winding  rocky  roads  were 
not  tempting  to  drivers,  and  there  was  little  of  inter- 
est to  be  seen  in  Llanon  by  the  undiscerning  tourist, 
though  much  to  be  observed  by  the  antiquarian. 

The  guide  books  mentioned  the  old  church  of  St. 
Nevyn  and  the  wishing  well  of  St.  Gwynnws,  where 
the  mutilated  and  time-worn  image  of  the  saint  still 
occupied  her  niche  beneath  a  stone  archway  above  a 
bubbling  spring,  but  the  latter  was  private  property, 
standing  within  the  grounds  of  Nantgwilt  Manor, 
where  had  dwelt  for  many  successive  generations  the 
ancient  family  of  Kemys.  The  guide  books  also 
pointed  out  a  cromlech  just  outside  the  village;  and 
upon  an  eminence  in  the  Nantgwilt  woods  a  large 
British  encampment;  but  the  inhabitants  thought 
more  of  the  lilies  of  the  valley  which  grew  over 
these  remains  of  antiquity,  and  which  were  to  be 
gathered  in  thousands  when  anyone  chose  to  go  a- 
Maying  there, —  than  of  what  lay  beneath  them. 

The  great  churchyard  formed  a  level  plateau,  and 
the  little  village,  built  on  two  sides  of  the  square, — 
a  humble  collection  of  uneven  stone-tiled  roofs  and 
sloping  gardens, —  looked  the  more  insignificant  be- 
cause the  square  embattled  church  tower  dating  from 
the  1 4th  century  was  so  imposing. 


ANNETTE  UNDER  THE  CEDAR        3 

The  main  street  consisted  of  a  single  row  of  cot- 
tages and  almshouses  facing  the  churchyard  wall, 
and  ending  in  the  circular  sweep  before  the  Manor 
House,  which  opened  directly  upon  the  road. 

At  right  angles  to  the  almshouses  stood  a  line  of 
shops,  and  the  Kemys  Arms;  with  a  wedged  in  resi- 
dence of  gentility  known  as  the  Red  House. 

The  shops  consisted  of  three  general  utility  or 
grocery  stores,  including  the  post-office.  All  three 
stocked  exactly  the  same  class  of  goods,  and  dis- 
played the  same  medley  of  cheap  sweets,  balls  of 
twine,  coloured  advertisements,  fly-blown  raisins,  and 
boxes  of  starch  in  their  small  dim  windows.  The 
three  shop  keepers,  ignoring  the  possibilities  of  com- 
petition, serenely  borrowed  from  each  other  when 
demand  exceeded  supply;  or  bade  their  customers 
wait  until  fresh  goods  were  due  to  arrive  in  the  usual 
course  of  events. 

Next  the  post-office  came  a  smithy  and  a  wheel- 
wright's, and  there  the  business  houses  of  Llanon 
ended;  for  the  baker  lived  in  an  adjacent  village,  and 
called  twice  a  week  upon  the  few  inhabitants  who  did 
not  bake  their  own  bread,  and  the  butcher  sent  meat 
on  Fridays  from  the  town  of  Llysdinam  nearly  seven 
miles  distant.  No  one  dreamt  of  buying  fruit,  other 
than  oranges  and  lemons,  since  fruit  in  its  season  was 
plentiful  in  Llanon,  and  the  apple  supply  lasted  from 
July  to  April. 

The  Rectory  hid  itself  modestly  behind  the  aims- 
houses,  and  its  windows  overlooked  a  portion  of  the 


4  THE  TYRANT 

gardens  of  Nantgwilt,  although  a  narrow  lane  di- 
vided the  respective  properties  of  squire  and  parson. 

The  Manor  House  turned  its  dark  front  upon  the 
churchyard;  and  the  home-farm  with  its  great  barn 
and  low  outbuildings,  stretched  across  the  far  side  of 
the  square,  and  met  the  walled-in  domain  where 
dwelt  old  Mrs.  Kemys,  the  mother  of  the  present 
lord  of  the  manor.  In  this  thatched  ornamental  cot- 
tage she  spent  her  days  in  great  comfort  and  seclu- 
sion, retired  from  the  cares  and  worries  which  had 
beset  her  during  her  reign  over  the  great  house;  yet 
able  to  keep  an  attentive  watch  upon  the  doings  of 
her  successor. 

Old  Mrs.  Kemys  was  liked  but  feared,  in  the  vil- 
lage, whereas  young  Mrs.  Kemys,  though  liked  even 
better,  was  certainly  not  feared;  and  the  respect  she 
inspired  was  mingled  with  the  pity  which  to  vulgar 
minds  is  akin  to  contempt. 

"  Can't  call  her  soul  her  own,  poor  thing,"  said 
Mrs.  Prickard,  of  the  post-office. 

"Well,  she  brought  nothing  into  the  family;  the 
poor  old  colonel,  her  pa,  had  nought  but  his  pension 
what  died  with  him.  What  can  you  expect?  It's 
all  the  squire's,  and  he  lets  her  know  it.  I  don't 
blame  him,"  said  Job  Evanson,  who  was  an  inde- 
pendent thatcher  living  at  Llanon,  but  in  great  re- 
quest all  over  the  neighbourhood,  where  his  art,  as 
he  said  himself,  was  dying  out. 


ANNETTE  UNDER  THE  CEDAR        5 

"  Ah,  like  sides  with  like.  You're  a  bit  inclined 
to  be  masterful  yourself,  Mr.  Evanson,"  said  Mrs. 
Beddoe,  a  mild  widow  who  took  in  washing,  and 
lived  next  door  to  the  thatcher  and  his  wife.  Mrs. 
Evanson  was  not  one  of  those,  she  often  remarked, 
who  were  fond  of  making  mysteries,  and  conse- 
quently all  her  affairs  were  intimately  known  to  her 
neighbours. 

"  I  know  I'm  masterful.  I  always  was  a  bit  in- 
clined that  way,"  said  Mr.  Evanson,  with  satisfac- 
tion. "  My  opinion  is  that  a  man  as  is  a  man  should 
let  people  know  it.  Then  he  don't  get  imposed  upon, 
not  by  his  wife  nor  by  nobody  else." 

"  I  don't  hold  with  extremes,"  said  Mrs.  Beddoe. 
"  My  pore  husband  used  to  say  *  Live  and  let  live,' 
and  we  never  had  a  word  that  I  can  remember.  I 
wish  I'd  ever  come  across  another  like  him,  and  I'd 
'a  got  married  again." 

"  While  there's  life,  there's  hope,  mum,"  said  Mr. 
Evanson,  winking  at  Mrs.  Prickard. 

"No,  I've  left  it  too  late,"  said  Mrs.  Beddoe, 
thoughtfully.  "  That's  what  conies  of  living  in 
Llanon,  year  in,  year  out.  The  choice  is  so  limited. 
Never  anyone  new  coming  along." 

"  Ah  well,"  said  Mrs.  Prickard,  "  we're  never  tired 
of  abusing  Llanon,  but  all  I  can  say  is,  I  never  go 
down  to  Llysdinam  but  what  I'm  thankful  to  come  up 
home  again,  for  all  one  hears  of  the  gaieties  of  town 
life.  What  else  was  you  asking  for,  Mrs.  Beddoe? 


6  THE  TYRANT 

Reckitt's  blue  ?  I  know  I  have  a  boxful  somewheres. 
There,  I  dumped  down  the  new  parcel  of  picture 
postcards  on  the  top  —  and  missed  it." 

Two  little  boys  came  into  the  shop.  Flaxen- 
haired,  blue-eyed,  in  sailor  jerseys,  darned  and  re- 
darned,  and  serge  knickerbockers  grown  too  tight 
and  displaying  legs  golden  with  sunburn. 

The  elder  and  broader  was  sturdy  and  healthy, 
with  a  dimple  set  at  the  corner  of  a  wide  humorous 
mouth ;  the  younger  was  shy  and  delicate. 

"  Master  Corney,  I  declare,"  said  Mrs.  Prickard, 
in  a  kind  voice.  "  Now  what  do  you  be  wanting  this 
morning,  sir,  out  so  early?  And  Master  Manuel." 

They  wanted  a  pennyworth  of  bulls-eyes,  and  hav- 
ing executed  their  commission,  made  themselves  as 
scarce  as  possible;  looking  first  to  the  right  and  then 
to  the  left,  as  though  fearful  of  being  caught,  and 
then  racing  down  the  road  towards  the  Manor 
House. 

"  I'd  be  ashamed  to  let  my  boys  go  about  so 
shabby,"  said  Mrs.  Prickard,  looking  after  them 
compassionately.  "  Did  you  see  their  socks,  Mrs. 
Beddoe?" 

"  I've  seen  them  often  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Bed- 
doe.  "  Falls  to  pieces  in  the  wash  they  do.  So  does 
all  their  things.  Sometimes  I  don't  know  how  to 
face  Mrs.  Sharman  up  to  the  Manor  House,  when  I 
take  the  washing  home." 

"  Ah,   poor   thing,   she  must   feel   the   pinch   of 


ANNETTE  UNDER  THE  CEDAR        ^ 

poverty,  having  seen  better  days  when  she  was  house- 
keeper to  the  old  man." 

"  Better  days !  'Tis  my  belief  Squire  Kemys  has 
more  money  than  he  knows  what  to  do  with.  And 
I've  got  good  authority  for  saying  so,"  said  Mr. 
Evanson,  striking  the  counter.  "  If  he  don't  choose 
to  lay  it  out  on  the  backs  of  little  boys,  I  don't  blame 
him,  as  I  said  before." 

"  If  that  be  so,  and  I've  heard  it  said  till  I'm  bound 
to  believe  there's  something  in  it  —  why  he's  no  bet- 
ter than  a  skinflint  miser  with  the  state  all  them  cot- 
tages out  to  the  Glyn  be  in,"  said  Mrs.  Prickard, 
contemptuously,  "  and  I'm  sorry  for  madam.  She's 
had  a  hard  time,  poor  thing,  and  everyone  knows  it." 

"  A  pretty  girl  she  was  in  the  old  days,  time  she 
lived  in  the  Red  House,  with  her  pa, — but  her  spirit's 
broke,"  said  Job  Evanson.  "  I  don't  know  what  the 
old  colonel  would  say  if  he  could  see  her  now.  He 
was  another  sort  to  Squire  Kemys,  and  I  shan't  never 
forget  him  for  one." 

They  were  all  silent,  for  everyone  present  remem- 
bered the  old  days  of  which  the  thatcher  spoke ;  and 
everyone  present  had  kindly  memories  of  the  gentle 
old  soldier  who  had  once  been  a  familiar  figure  in 
the  village  street,  walking  erect  and  cheerful,  with 
his  pretty  daughter  clinging  to  his  arm. 

Colonel  Myllon  had  been  laid  to  rest  beside  his 
wife  in  the  square  churchyard  twenty  years  ago,  but 
the  very  sound  of  his  name  had  a  softening  effect 


8  THE  TYRANT 

upon   those   inhabitants  of  Llanon  whom   he  had 
counted  among  his  friends. 

"  I'll  bid  you  good  morning,  Mrs.  Prickard;  'tis 
time  I  got  back  home  again,"  said  Mrs.  Beddoe,  in 
subdued  tones ;  and  with  her  departure  the  conversa- 
tion flagged. 

Stone-tiled  and  ivy-clad  the  front  of  the  Manor 
House  presented  a  sombre  and  melancholy  aspect. 
The  entrance  faced  the  village  street,  and  the  win- 
dows of  the  left  wing,  heavily  overshadowed  by  trees, 
looked  across  a  narrow  lane  into  the  Rectory  kitchen 
garden:  and  on  the  right,  upon  the  ancient  tomb- 
stones and  aged  yews  of  the  churchyard. 

The  brightness  of  the  other  side  of  the  house  there- 
fore took  strangers  by  surprise. 

Here  the  long  low  rooms,  panelled  with  oak,  and 
rich  with  curiously  wrought  cornices  and  ceilings, 
looked  out  upon  a  gay  and  charming  garden,  where 
bright  flower  beds  and  old  lawns  gave  place  to  finely 
timbered  meadow  lands,  bounded  in  their  turn  by 
woods,  which  sloped  downwards  into  the  very  heart 
of  the  valley. 

A  grove  of  ilex  sheltered  the  lawn  on  the  west,  and 
a  path  through  this  grove,  so  deeply  shaded  as  to  be 
almost  a  tunnel,  led  to  the  kitchen  garden. 

The  wide  lawn  before  the  house  was  cut  into  old- 
fashioned  shapes  of  diamonds  and  hearts  and  circles, 
now  glowing  with  wall-flowers  of  every  hue,  from 
deep  red  velvet  to  palest  gold. 


ANNETTE  UNDER  THE  CEDAR        9 

Crimson  faced  daisies  edged  the  borders,  and  the 
periwinkles,  opening  their  eyes  upon  the  spring  world, 
peeped  over  a  rockery  like  little  mirrors  reflecting  the 
hue  of  the  cloudless  April  sky. 

The  breath  of  the  east  wind  was  hushed  to  still- 
ness; the  sunshine  lay  calmly  upon  the  tree-tops  and 
the  distant  hills. 

In  the  center  of  the  lawn  a  magnificent  cedar 
spread  its  level  branches,  forming  an  almost  im- 
penetrable shelter.  At  the  foot  of  its  mighty  twisted 
trunk  a  little  rustic  bench  waited  humbly. 

Mrs.  Kemys  came  slowly  down  the  oak  staircase, 
passed  the  tall  blue  jars  of  pot-pourri  on  either  side 
of  the  open  doorway, —  and  crossed  the  lawn  to  her 
favourite  seat. 

The  setting  was  romantic,  but  there  was  nothing 
romantic  in  her  appearance. 

She  was  about  forty  years  old,  though  she  looked 
considerably  older.  * 

Her  face  was  careworn  and  colourless;  her  thin 
hair  parted  above  her  brow  was  of  that  nondescript 
tint  which  is  the  intermediate  between  gold  and  grey. 

An  anxious  doubting  spirit  looked  pathetically 
from  faded  blue  eyes;  but  the  features  were  regular 
and  the  face  of  a  delicate  oval  shape,  though  the 
cheeks  and  temples  were  so  thin  as  to  present  almost 
a  sunken  appearance. 

Her  dress  was  of  the  kind,  which  in  a  time 
gone  by  would  have  been  called  ladylike,  because  un- 
noticeable.  It  was  of  a  flimsy  black  stuff  dignified 


io  THE  TYRANT 

with  silk  trimmings,  and  obviously  the  creation  of  a 
provincial  or  village  dressmaker.  She  wore  as  her 
sole  ornament  an  old-fashioned  pearl  brooch  con- 
taining her  father's  and  mother's  hair :  the  white  and 
the  brown  entwined.  It  fastened  a  narrow  collar 
of  old  lace. 

Yet  dowdy,  shabby,  faded  as  she  was,  she  bore 
herself  with  the  unconscious  quiet  dignity  of  good 
breeding;  and  in  spite  of  her  slight  stoop  and  thin- 
ness, there  was  something  of  grace  in  her  movements. 

She  seated  herself  beneath  the  cedar,  put  her  work- 
basket, —  no  pretty  toy,  but  a  solid  receptacle  for 
mending,  upon  the  rustic  table  before  her,  and  de- 
voted her  attention  to  darning  prosaic  black  hose. 

She  was  not  perhaps,  insensible  to  the  beauty 
around  her,  but  she  was  too  much  engrossed  with  her 
own  reflections  to  heed  it  consciously.  Sewing  does 
not  hinder,  but  rather  encourages  thought;  and  the 
rhythm  of  the  needle  can  form  a  pleasant  accompani- 
ment to  the  wordless  song  of  memory  or  anticipa- 
tion. 

Between  the  two  her  reflections  hovered,  rather 
than  fix  themselves  upon  the  present,  from  which  her 
mind  perhaps,  welcomed  the  escape. 

Annette  Kemys,  whose  spirit  the  thatcher  believed 
to  be  broken,  was  by  nature  of  a  sanguine  disposi- 
tion: the  doubts  and  fears,  engendered  by  the  daily 
worries  of  a  life  which  circumstances  had  not  ren- 
dered an  easy  one,  were  apt  to  be  dispersed  with 


ANNETTE  UNDER  THE  CEDAR      n 

almost  surprising  facility  under  favourable  condi- 
tions. 

Just  now  the  conditions  were  favourable :  the 
monthly  bills  had  been  settled;  her  husband  had 
been  unusually  good-tempered  at  breakfast:  her 
children,  so  far  as  she  knew,  were  all  well;  the  sun 
was  shining,  and  the  spirit  of  spring,  joy-compelling, 
was  in  the  air.  The  lines  on  the  white  face  relaxed, 
and  the  light  blue  eyes,  bent  upon  the  task  in  hand, 
grew  tender  and  introspective. 

A  house-mother,  however,  is  seldom  permitted  to 
taste  the  soothing  influence  of  solitude. 

Mrs.  Kemys  worked  for  half  an  hour  undisturbed ; 
and  then  the  sound  of  young  voices  preceded  the 
appearance  of  a  little  procession  which  issued  from 
the  dark  doorway, —  curtained  with  white  clematis, 
—  of  the  south  front,  into  the  brilliance  of  the  morn- 
ing sunshine. 

Mrs.  Kemys  looked  up  and  a  faint  smile  dawned  in 
her  tired  eyes,  and  played  about  the  delicately  shaped 
mouth:  a  smile  instinct  with  those  mingled  feelings 
of  tenderness,  pride  and  amusement,  with  which  a 
mother  looks  upon  her  children;  above  all  upon  her 
children  growing  up. 

Annie  led  the  little  procession  as  was  her  wont. 
Tall  and  gracious,  in  the  first  careless  loveliness  of 
maidenhood,  she  was  so  pretty  that  the  shabbiness  of 
her  washed-out  pink  cotton  frock  and  the  mended 
brim  of  her  coarse  straw  hat  mattered  nothing  at  all, 


la  THE  TYRANT 

if  she  had  but  known  it.  But  she  did  not  know  it, 
and  her  soul  was  mortified  within  her  whenever  she 
remembered  the  deficiencies  of  her  attire. 

A  glance  at  Annie  revealed  her  mother's  past 
beauty;  a  glance  at  her  mother  betrayed  the  possi- 
bilities of  Annie's  future. 

The  little  boys,  Corney  and  Manuel,  held  on  to 
their  sister,  and  danced  round  her,  and  were  alter- 
nately petted  and  pushed  away  according  to  her  mood 
and  fancy,  without  conscious  intention  on  one  side  or 
the  slightest  resentment  on  the  other.  And  Sophy 
followed  behind,  which  was  also  characteristic  of 
Sophy,  and  an  equally  unconscious  manifestation  of 
her  attitude  towards  her  elder  sister.  Sophy  fol- 
lowed carrying  some  empty  baskets  and  grumbling. 
She  always  grumbled,  but  nevertheless  she  always 
found  herself  carrying  the  baskets.  A  fair  skin,  light 
blue  eyes,  abundant  flaxen  hair  and  a  retrousse  nose, 
were  Sophy's  portion.  She  was  not  so  tall  as  Annie, 
and  her  piquant  prettiness  was  of  small  account  be- 
side that  frank  loveliness. 

She  had  a  trim  little  figure  and  wore  a  blue  cotton 
gown.  Sophy  preferred  pink,  but  Annie  said  it  was 
absurd  for  sisters  to  dress  alike,  so  Sophy,  protest- 
ing, wore  blue,  and  failed  to  observe  that  it  became 
her  better  than  rose-colour. 

"  We  are  going  to  the  woods  to  get  primroses, 
mother." 

"  My  dears,  the  little  boys  haven't  said  their  les- 
sons " —  in  reproving  indulgent  tones. 


ANNETTE  UNDER  THE  CEDAR      13 

"  If  you'll  hear  them  now,  Mamma,  they  could 
come  with  us,"  said  Annie,  coaxingly;  and  one  or  two 
shabby  lesson  books  were  produced  timidly  by  the 
small  students. 

Seven  year  old  Corney  said  his  column  of  spelling 
without  a  mistake,  and  standing  beside  his  mother 
with  a  sturdy  pointed  elbow  digging  into  her  thin 
shoulder,  he  looked  over  the  book  and  audibly 
prompted  his  little  brother. 

She  shook  her  head,  but  allowed  the  strong  sun- 
burnt little  hand  to  close  the  book  and  hand  up  an- 
other tattered  volume. 

Little  Manuel's  alarmed  eyes  never  left  his  broth- 
er's face  as  he  stumbled  over  his  multiplication  table, 
but  with  the  help  of  nods  and  frowns  from  Corney 
and  his  mother's  indulgence,  he  managed  to  get 
through  his  lesson,  and  the  two  little  boys  were  re- 
leased, and  flew  round  the  lawn,  shrieking  joy- 
fully. 

"  Don't  let  Manuel  get  his  feet  wet." 

"  Mamma,  you  say  that  automatically  whatever 
the  weather  is.  As  if  we  should,  when  we  know  what 
a  to-do  there  is  if  he  catches  the  commonest  cold." 

The  little  girl  who  was  Manuel's  twin  sister  had 
died  of  consumption,  and  Mrs.  Kemys  sighed. 

"  My  dear,  he  is  so  delicate." 

Annie  reproved  Manuel  with  elder  sisterly  can? 
dour  as  the  child  returned  panting  to  the  cedar,  with 
his  face  flushed  and  his  great  eyes  shining. 

"  Don't  go  overheating  yourself,  to  begin  with, 


i4  THE  TYRANT 

you  little  donkey,"  she  said,  first  shaking  and  then 
hugging  him. 

They  went  away  across  the  sunny  lawn,  Corney 
running  back  to  kiss  his  mother  with  the  honest 
warmth  which  his  kind  little  heart  dictated.  He  em- 
braced her  with  the  natural  roughness  of  extreme 
youth  which  he  shared  with  the  boisterous  puppy 
gambolling  at  his  heels,  and  the  white-faced  Here- 
ford calf  buffeting  its  grave  parent  in  the  meadow 
beyond  the  garden  paling. 

Mrs.  Kemys  settled  her  ruffled  hair  and  collar 
placidly,  and  returned  to  her  work  with  a  sigh  of 
content. 

After  all,  life  held  many  pleasant  hours. 

The  little  boys  —  her  face  softened  at  the  familiar 
term,  which  was,  to  her,  a  term  of  endearment  in, 
itself  —  the  little  boys  were  so  merry  and  affectionate 
and  so  fond  of  each  other.  There  was  no  quarrel- 
ling between  them  as  there  had  been  always  between 
Rodric  and  Courtenay,  her  elder  sons.  But  those 
two  had  been  on  even  terms,  whereas  Corney,  young 
as  he  was,  would  have  scorned  to  squabble  with  such 
a  poor  little  weakling  as  Manuel. 

Perhaps  she  had  been  imprudent  to  let  Manuel  go 
into  the  woods  in  the  wet  moss  —  but  his  boots  were 
thick;  the  nailed  clodhopping  boots  of  the  little 
country  lad ;  and  Annie  would  take  care  of  him.  She 
was  always  good  to  the  little  boys. 

Her  pretty  Annie  —  again  the  smile  stole  about  the 


ANNETTE  UNDER  THE  CEDAR      15 

mother's  lips,  and  irradiated  the  faded  face  bent  over 
the  mending  basket. 

"  Annette,  where  are  you?  " 

"  I  am  here,  Richard,  under  the  cedar.  Do  you 
want  me?  I'll  come." 

"  No,  stay  where  you  are.     I'll  come  out." 

Richard  Kemys  strode  across  the  lawn  with  a 
packet  of  letters  in  his  hand,  and  the  London  news- 
papers, which  had  just  arrived,  in  a  bundle  under  his 
arm. 

He  was  a  big  broad-shouldered  powerfully  built 
man,  in  his  fiftieth  year ;  he  was  inclined  to  stoutness, 
and  the  thick  hair  pushed  off  his  frowning  brow,  was 
iron-grey. 

His  bearing  was  characterized  by  an  indefinable 
suggestion  of  aggressiveness.  His  deep-coloured 
blue  eyes  were  choleric,  twinkling  angrily  beneath 
eyebrows  that  met  across  the  bridge  of  his  nose.  His 
ruddy  face  was  clean-shaven,  and  his  features,  though 
large,  were  undeniably  handsome;  but  the  jaw  was 
too  heavy,  and  the  corners  of  the  mouth  turned 
down. 

"  Sewing  as  usual.  Aren't  there  maids  enough 
about,  eating  their  heads  off,  that  you  must  be  always 
wrapped  up  in  your  stitching  whenever  I  want  you," 
he  said,  pulling  forward  a  garden  chair  and  seating 
himself  with  unnecessary  force.  "  Where  are  those 
idle  girls,  gadding  off  as  usual?  " 


16  THE  TYRANT 

"  It  is  such  a  beautiful  morning,"  said  his  wife,  dep- 
recatingly.  "  I  gave  them  leave  to  go  primrosing. 
Annie  wanted  to  fill  the  drawing-room  vases  this 
morning,  and  you  know  you  do  not  like  the  garden 
flowers  to  be  gathered." 

Richard  Kemys  looked  sharply  round  at  the  well- 
filled  flower  beds  and  his  frown  relaxed  slightly.  He 
had  a  weakness  for  his  garden. 

"  I  should  think  she  might  find  something  better 
to  do  than  go  primrosing  at  her  age,"  he  grumbled. 

"  Oh  Richard.  What  is  the  child  to  do?  now  that 
she  is  eighteen  and  her  lessons  done  with.  It  is  not 
so  easy  to  find  a  great  deal  to  do  for  a  girl  at  home. 
We  may  be  thankful  she  enjoys  such  innocent  pleas- 
ures, which  cost  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  sigh- 
ing. 

"  If  she  busied  herself  with  sensible  work  she 
could  save  the  keep  of  a  servant,  I  suppose?  But  no, 
she  and  her  sister  must  sit  with  their  hands  in  their 
laps,  to  be  waited  upon,"  he  said  roughly. 

"  They  took  the  little  boys  for  their  walk.  Shar- 
man  is  always  busy  on  Monday  morning  and  glad  to 
get  them  out  of  her  way." 

"  Does  it  need  two  strapping  young  females  to 
take  a  couple  of  shavers  like  that  for  a  walk?  "  said 
Mr.  Kemys,  with  an  angry  laugh.  "  Why  should 
they  want  to  go  for  a  walk?  Isn't  the  garden  good 
enough  for  them  to  play  in?  Or  the  stableyard? 
It  was  good  enough  for  my  brothers  and  me  at  that 
age,  I  can  tell  you." 


ANNETTE  UNDER  THE  CEDAR      17 

"  I  daresay  it  isn't  exactly  necessary,"  said  the  poor 
lady,  "  but  they  are  always  so  happy  —  running  after 
Annie. —  You  said  you  wanted  me,  Richard?  " 

"Of  course  you  turn  the  conversation,  you  always 
do  if  I  say  a  word  about  the  children,"  he  said,  with 
heavy  displeasure.  "  But  I've  come  to  talk  about 
them  for  all  that,  at  least  about  one  of  them." 

She  dropped  her  work,  upon  which  her  eyes  had 
been  steadily  fastened,  and  looked  anxiously  at  the 
lowering  face  opposite  her.  Mr.  Kemys  laid  his  pa- 
pers, with  the  bundle  of  letters  uppermost,  upon  the 
rustic  table. 

"  Is  —  is  there  anything  wrong  with  the  boys?" 
she  faltered. 

"  Aye,  you  are  interested  enough  now,"  he  said, 
with  that  angry  laugh  which  jarred  upon  her  every 
nerve,  and  which  was  the  form  of  merriment  to  which 
Richard  Kemys  was  addicted  when  things  went 
wrong. 

The  woman  who  had  been  his  devoted  wife  for 
two  and  twenty  years,  who  had  borne  him  seven  chil- 
dren, and  who  knew  every  intonation  of  his  voice  and 
every  expression  of  his  face,  was  uneasy  now  as  she 
looked  and  listened. 

"  Is  it  Courtenay  —  or  —  or  Rodric?  "  she  asked 
nervously. 

"  We  all  know  that  Courtenay  can  do  no  wrong," 
he  said,  evidently  willing  to  trifle  with  her  suspense 
by  indulging  a  heavy  satire  intended  for  playfulness. 
"  Courtenay  is  the  model  boy;  the  martyr  who  was 


1 8  THE  TYRANT 

sent  to  a  cheap  provincial  school  and  revenged  him- 
self by  winning  all  the  scholarships,  and  going  up  to 
idle  away  the  best  years  of  his  life  at  Oxford,  instead 
of  working  as  his  father  did  before  him.  You 
wouldn't  believe  anything  bad  of  Courtenay  even  if 
I  told  you." 

Mr.  Kemys  was  under  the  erroneous  impression 
that  Courtenay  was  his  mother's  favourite  son,  but 
she  cherished  that  secret  preference  for  her  first-born 
which  is  common  to  many  women,  and  was  only 
thankful  that  the  weakness  had  been  so  successfully 
hidden  in  her  heart. 

"  Perhaps  Roddy  would  be  the  more  likely  to  get 
into  a  scrape  of  the  two,"  she  said  guardedly,  "  but 
I  do  not  think  either  of  them  particularly  inclined 
to  get  into  scrapes,  for  if  Courtenay  is  the  more  con- 
scientious in  little  things,  Roddy  has  the  most  com- 
mon sense,  and  he  would  not  do  anything  he  believed 
dishonourable  or  unworthy  for  the  whole  world,  poor 
boy." 

The  poor  lady  knew  that  her  sons  were  not  perfect, 
that  they  quarrelled  only  too  often  with  each  other, 
and  were  sometimes  as  impatient  of  her  gentle  rule  as 
of  their  father's  harshness.  But  she  looked  into  her 
own  heart,  and  found  it  full  of  imperfections,  and 
thought  also,  in  spite  of  herself,  of  their  father's 
faults.  How  could  she  expect  perfection  from  their 
children? 

'  The  poor  boy,  as  you  call  him,"  said  Mr.  Kemys, 
allowing  his  anger  full  play  at  last,  "  has  had  the 


ANNETTE  UNDER  THE  CEDAR      19 

impudence  to  write  and  ask  me  to  approve  of  his 
leaving  Jacobs  &  Bernstein's  office,  and  to  give  him 
some  capital  to  play  with  into  the  bargain.  Him 
some  capital !  He  would  be  satisfied,  he  says  very 
kindly,  with  a  thousand  pounds,  if  I  can't  spare  more. 
//  /  can't  spare  more!  He  wishes,  it  appears,  to  go 
off  to  the  Argentine  and  seek  his  fortune  with  Jack 
Meredydd  and  one  or  two  other  young  fools.  And 
he  has  the  further  impudence  to  remind  me  that  he 
came  of  age  last  week,  and  that  he  only  consented 
to  work  in  the  office  until  he  was  entitled  to  his  in- 
dependence. I'll  show  him  what  his  independence 
means.  Nantgwilt's  no  longer  entailed,  and  I'd 
rather  leave  it  to  Corney  any  day  than  to  Rodric, 
with  his  confounded  cheek  and  airs  of  knowing  some- 
thing about  the  farm  and  the  management  of  the  es- 
tate; or  to  his  priggish  bookworm  of  a  brother 
either." 

"  I'm  sorry  Roddy  said  anything  about  his  coming 
of  age,  but  boys  don't  always  think  what  is  wisest. 
He  is  impulsive,  but  I'm  certain  he  meant  no  impu- 
dence," said  Mrs.  Kemys,  taking  up  her  work  with 
trembling  hands.  "  But  so  long  as  he's  not  got  into 
any  trouble  —  I  was  afraid  — " 

"What  were  you  afraid  of?  You  are  always 
afraid  of  something.  One  would  think  a  woman  of 
your  age  had  got  over  such  timidity.  The  fact  is  you 
know  lots  of  their  misdoings  which  you  take  care  to 
hide  from  me,  and  are  alarmed  lest  I  should  find 
you  out." 


20  THE  TYRANT 

"  I  know  I  am  always  afraid  of  something.  It  is 
foolish  of  me,"  she  said,  trying  to  smile,  "  though  it 
is  certainly  not  of  their  misdoings,  as  you  call  it. 
But  when  one  has  two  sons  out  in  the  world  — " 

"  Out  in  the  world !  The  one  psalm-singing  at 
Oxford,  and  the  other  nailed  to  his  desk  in  the  city," 
said  Mr.  Kemys,  derisively.  "And  there  he  shall 
stop,  mind  that,  for  all  the  help  he'll  get  from  me." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  make  up  your  mind  to  that 
without  hearing  what  the  boy  has  to  say,  Richard," 
she  said,  pleadingly.  "  Be  fair  to  him,  even  if  — •• 
sometimes  I  almost  think  — " 

"  Well  —  why  don't  you  end  your  sentence  ?  You 
have  a  maddening  way  of  stopping  short  in  the 
middle." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  it  seemed  a  monstrous 
thing  to  say,"  she  faltered,  colouring.  "  I  have  felt 
at  times  that  since  poor  Roddy  grew  up  you  have  al- 
most—  disliked  him." 

"  When  a  boy  grows  up  to  be  everything  you  dis- 
approve of  most,  you  can't  be  expected  to  like  him 
particularly,"  said  Mr.  Kemys.  "  What's  he  done 
to  make  me  like  him?  " 

"  He's  been  a  good  boy,  Richard,"  she  said  sim- 
ply. "  Of  course  I  know  he  didn't  do  as  well  at 
school  as  Courtenay,  but  it's  not  in  everybody's  power 
to  get  scholarships.  And  he  was  good  at  games." 

"  Good  at  games !  "  repeated  her  husband,  in  scorn 
unspeakable. 

"  I  daresay  he  neglected  his  lessons  a  little,"  she 


ANNETTE  UNDER  THE  CEDAR      21 

went  on,  with  unusual  persistence,  "  being  captain  of 
his  cricket  eleven,  and  so  forth;  but  all  the  same  it 
was  a  great  blow  to  him  when  you  took  him  away 
from  school  and  set  your  face  against  his  going  into 
the  army.  It  was  very  hard  for  him  to  give  in. 
And  he's  been  wonderfully  steady  at  the  office  work. 
Three  years  is  a  long  time,  Richard,  for  a  boy  of  his 
age.  You  know  how  much  he  hates  it." 

"  Why  should  he  hate  it?  That's  what  I  want  to 
know.  I  didn't  hate  office  work,"  cried  Mr.  Kemys. 

"  How  can  I  tell  why  ?  We're  all  different.  I 
daresay  he  hasn't  your  ability  for  business.  You 
know  I  have  none  whatever.  He  may  have  taken 
after  me.  But  going  out  to  one  of  these  new  coun- 
tries —  cattle  ranching  —  it's  just  been  the  dream  of 
his  life  to  do  that  if  he  couldn't  become  a  soldier. 
And  as  for  the  thousand  pounds,  why,  dear  Richard, 
think  how  often  you've  told  us  all  of  your  oppor- 
tunity to  start  yourself  in  life,  and  how  it  came  with 
the  legacy  your  godmother  left  you.  Isn't  it  natural 
that  Roddy  should  want  his  chance  too,  to  make  a 
fortune?  " 

"  Who  told  you  I  made  a  fortune?  "  growled  Mr. 
Kemys.  "  He  won't  get  a  thousand  pounds  out  of 
me  to  go  to  the  dogs  with,  nor  yet  a  thousand  pence. 
It's  sticking  to  work  that  makes  fortunes,  not  going 
on  wild  goose  chases  to  the  other  end  of  the  world." 

She  was  silent. 

"  The  young  blackguard  has  written  to  you  too, 
apparently,"  said  Mr.  Kemys,  and  he  sorted  the  bun- 


22  THE  TYRANT 

die  before  him,  and  handed  her  a  letter  with  a  grudg- 
ing air. 

The  post-bag  came  to  Nantgwilt  soon  after  break- 
fast, and  the  master  of  the  house  unlocked  it,  and 
gave  forth  the  contents  to  the  household  at  his  own 
will  and  pleasure. 

If  he  were  otherwise  occupied  it  might  lie  for  an 
hour  or  more  unopened  upon  the  hall  table.  No  one 
else  dared  to  touch  it,  nor  to  unfold  the  newspapers 
which  were  taken  instantly  to  his  study. 

He  communicated  what  news  he  chose  to  the  as- 
sembled family  at  luncheon,  where  he  could  also  thun- 
der forth  his  own  political  opinions  in  the  pleasing 
certainty  that  he  would  not  be  contradicted,  whether 
he  elected  to  condemn  the  Government,  or  abuse  the 
tactics  of  the  opposition.  His  eloquence  flowed 
more  easily  in  the  direction  of  censure  than  of  praise. 

Mrs.  Kemys  was  obliged  to  open  her  son's  letter 
in  the  presence  of  her  lord,  but  Rodric  had  known 
that  she  would  probably  be  obliged  to  do  so,  and  she 
knew  that  he  knew,  so  that  she  opened  it  without  any 
qualms. 

Under  the  circumstances,  however,  it  proved  to  be 
a  trifle  more  outspoken  than  usual,  even  for  Rodric, 
who  dealt  in  frankness. 

"  Mother,  dear,"  the  boy  wrote,  "  I  shall  be  with 
you  before  long  now,  for  Easter,  but  before  I  come, 
try  and  make  my  father  understand  that  I'm  in  earn- 
est about  going  to  the  Argentine.  I've  written  him 


ANNETTE  UNDER  THE  CEDAR     23 

all  the  details,  and  reminded  him  that  I  always  said 
I  wouldn't  go  on  with  my  office  work  after  I  was  one 
and  twenty.  I've  ornamented  a  three-legged  stool 
for  three  solid  years  to  please  him  and  I  like  it  no 
better  now  than  I  did  at  the  start,  but  sticking  it  out 
like  that  ought  to  show  the  governor  I've  got  the  stuff 
in  me.  The  old  josser  here  finds  fault  now  and  then, 
of  course,  just  to  keep  his  hand  in,  but  there's  never 
been  a  real  complaint.  Remind  Papa  how  my  edu- 
cation was  cut  short  and  how  I  wasn't  allowed  even 
to  try  for  the  army.  That  was  hard  enough  to  bear, 
though  I'm  willing  to  admit  I  mightn't  have  got 
through  with  the  exams.  It  takes  a  bookish  fellow 
like  Courtenay,  who'd  hate  practical  soldiering,  to  get 
into  the  army  nowadays.  But  what's  the  good  of 
being  a  man,  mother  dear,  if  one  can't  follow  one's 
bent.  You  see  how  calmly  and  reasonably  I'm  writ- 
ing, not  impetuously,  for  once,  am  I  ? 

"If  my  father  would  give  me  the  money  I  ask 
for  he'd  never  repent  it.  I  swear  he  wouldn't. 

"  We've  planned  it  all  out  very  carefully.  There 
are  five  of  us  in  it,  including  Jack  Meredydd.  His 
uncle,  John  Meredydd,  who  used  to  be  in  old 
Turley's  office  in  Llysdinam  once,  has  been  out  there 
for  years,  and  has  a  great  estanda  in  Santa  Fe.  He 
will  stand  in  with  us,  and  help  us  to  start  for  our- 
selves. It's  too  long  to  write  about.  Now  you  see 
why  I've  been  so  keen  over  learning  Spanish.  It's 
not  a  bit  of  use  to  hope  to  get  on  without  it,  I'm 
told,  and  I've  a  pretty  useful  smattering  now.  EacK 


24  THE  TYRANT 

of  the  fellows  in  our  trusty  little  syndicate  has  got 
something,  and  it  would  be  bitter  hard  luck  upon  me, 
that  am  the  only  eldest  son  in  the  bunch,  if  my  father 
won't  spare  me  anything. 

"  But  it  won't  stop  my  going,  for  I've  got  my  heart 
in  it,  and  know  more  about  it  than  the  others,  who  are 
cockneys,  poor  chaps,  except  Jack;  but  all  as  keen 
as  mustard.  Do  try  and  get  Papa  to  see  it  from  my 
point  of  view,  mother  dear. 

"  Your  affec.  son, 

"  RODRIC  KEMYS." 

Very  faintly  in  the  extreme  corner  of  the  letter 
were  scribbled  —  Go  to  Granny. 

Mrs.  Kemys  was  inured  to  the  necessity  for  small 
duplicities.  When  she  handed  the  letter  meekly 
across  to  her  waiting  spouse,  the  corner  of  the  paper 
was  torn  off. 

His  comment  was  characteristic. 

"An  eldest  son,  is  he?  I'll  show  him  whether 
he's  an  eldest  son  or  not,"  said  Richard  Kemys,  with 
a  laugh. 


CHAPTER  II 

ANNIE  AMONG  THE  PRIMROSES 

THE  woods  above  Llanon  were  still  brown,  save  for 
the  snow  of  the  wild  cherry  and  the  pale  emerald  of 
the  larch. 

Annie  chose  a  mountain  path  that  led  upwards 
through  a  coppice  which  had  been  thinned  a  year 
earlier,  so  that  the  little  party  came  out  upon  a  com- 
paratively open  space,  where  only  trees  of  a  certain 
age  remained  standing. 

The  graceful  silver  birch,  tossing  delicate  feathery 
sprays,  faintly  promising  foliage  to  come;  the 
straight  young  oaks,  and  the  smooth-stemmed 
beech, —  stood  out  upon  the  cleared  woodland 
against  the  blue  sky;  and  from  a  bed  of  moss  and 
dead  leaves  the  primroses  had  sprung  in  their  thou- 
sands as  though  by  magic;  in  glad  response  to  the 
call  of  the  sunshine  and  the  winds  after  many  sea- 
sons of  darkness. 

"  Surely  we  have  climbed  far  enough,"  said  Sophy, 
seating  herself  upon  a  stump,  and  eying  the  exquisite 
spring  carpet  spread  at  her  feet,  with  calm  indiffer- 
ence. "  One  could  not  wish  for  a  better  bird's  eye 
yiew  of  the  village  than  one  gets  from  here." 

'*  You  have  come  to  pick  primroses,  not  to  look 


26  THE  TYRANT 

at  the  village,"  said  Annie,  going  down  upon  her 
knees  and  setting  to  work.  "Ah,  don't  tread  on 
their  dear  little  faces,  boys;  they  are  so  happy  look- 
ing up  at  the  sun." 

Corney  ostentatiously  tiptoed  through  the  yellow 
masses,  and  set  to  work  industriously  beside  his  sis- 
ter; who  with  deft  fingers  tied  the  primroses  into 
bunches  as  she  gathered  and  tossed  them  into  the  bas- 
ket. But  Sophy  remained  seated,  looking  down 
upon  the  little  world  below  which  lay  exposed  to  her 
view. 

"  How  plainly  you  can  see  into  the  garden  of  the 
Red  House  from  here.  There  are  old  Perina  and 
Cynthia  Eyewater,  poking  about  among  their  vege- 
tables as  usual.  I  should  think  they  would  get  sick 
of  gardening  from  morning  till  night,  with  their  old 
faces  hidden  in  their  old  sun-bonnets.  I  suppose 
they  are  afraid  of  spoiling  their  complexions." 

Annie  laughed  with  the  candid  whole-hearted 
amusement  of  the  young  girl  who  has  never  yet  taken 
thought  for  the  preservation  of  her  good  looks,  and 
who  believes  that  her  beauty  will  last,  though  sur- 
rounded by  a  hundred  evidences  to  the  contrary. 

"  Everybody  seems  out  and  about  this  morning," 
said  Sophy  vivaciously;  for  though  the  primroses 
did  not  interest  her,  the  movements  of  her  neighbours 
did. 

'  The  spring  is  calling  them,"  said  Annie. 
"  Old  Meredydd  is  trotting  down  the  street  in  his 
broad-brimmed  hat.     There  is  a  dogcart  coming  — 


27, 

the  doctor  of  course.  I  bet  anything  he'll  stop  and 
speak.  Yes,  Dr.  Harries  is  getting  out.  He's  go- 
ing to  see  old  Mother  Eyewater,  though  there's  not 
a  thing  the  matter  with  her." 

"  When  one  is  her  age  one  is  always  more  or  less 
ill,  I  suppose,"  said  Annie,  leniently.  "  And  besides 
it's  the  only  chance  poor  old  Perry  and  Cider  have 
of  talking  to  a  man." 

"A  man  of  fifty!"  said  Sophy,  and  they  both 
laughed. 

"  I  daresay  fifty  doesn't  seem  so  very  old  to 
them"  said  the  indulgent  Annie.  '  You  are  idle, 
Sophy." 

Sophy  rose  with  a  sigh  and  picked  two  or  three 
primroses,  wandering  a  few  steps  further  afield,  and 
altogether  indifferent  to  the  charming  picture  pre- 
sented by  her  pretty  sister,  who  knelt  in  the  sunshine, 
which  played  fitfully  through  the  interlacing  boughs 
upon  the  pure  transparent  colour  of  her  oval  face; 
though  the  brim  of  her  straw  hat  cast  a  shadow  over 
her  long-lashed  eyes. 

Sophy  dawdled  and  gathered  and  presently 
strolled  round  a  curve  in  the  slope  which  hid  her  al- 
together. 

A  few  moments  later  the  sound  of  voices  made 
Annie  look  up  from  her  all-absorbing  task.  Sophy 
was  returning  in  haste,  and  by  her  side  was  a  young 
man,  a  sturdy  freckled  young  man,  with  kind  grey 
eyes,  and  a  pleasant  honest  countenance. 

The  flush  upon  Annie's  face  deepened,  but  Annie 


28  THE  TYRANT 

blushed  at  everything  or  at  nothing.  She  rose  and 
straightened  her  young  limbs,  cramped  with  kneel- 
ing; and  held  out  her  hand,  which  was  eagerly  taken. 

"I  couldn't  think  who  it  was.  I  didn't  know 
you  were  home,  Jack,"  with  the  calmness  of  an  old 
playmate. 

"  I  only  came  late  last  night,"  said  young  Mere- 
dydd,  "  and  when  I  went  over  to  the  Manor  House 
this  morning,  old  Pryse  said  you  had  gone  prim- 
rosing." 

"A  little  further  round  the  slope,"  said  Sophy, 
evincing  scant  interest  in  this  explanation,  "  you  can 
see  into  our  garden  very  plainly.  Mamma  is  still 
sitting  under  the  cedar  and  Papa  has  taken  out  the 
newspapers.  He  is  waving  them  about  like  any- 
thing. I  expect  they  are  having  a  row." 

"  They've  got  old  Roddy's  letter  this  morning," 
said  Jack. 

"  Rodric's  letter !  What  can  he  have  written 
about  when  he's  coming  home  so  soon?  "  said  both 
girls.  They  were  interested  immediately. 

Then  Annie  gave  a  warning  glance  at  the  little 
boys.  "  Go  round  the  slope,  Corney,  and  take  Man- 
uel with  you,  and  see  what  Mamma  is  doing.  But 
don't  come  back  till  I  call  you." 

Corney  reluctantly  removed  himself  and  his 
brother  out  of  earshot. 

"One  must  be  careful  before  the  children,"  said 
Annie,  with  the  dignity  of  eighteen.  "  Now,  Jack." 


ANNIE  AMONG  THE  PRIMROSES    29 

'  Well,  he  said  I  might  tell  you,"  said  young  Mer- 
edydd.  "  He's  going  to  chuck  the  office." 

"  Of  course,  I  knew  he  would  do  that  as  soon  as 
he  was  one  and  twenty,"  said  Rodric's  favourite  sis- 
ter, proudly.  "  He  always  meant  to." 

"  But  what  will  he  do  instead?  "  Sophy  said, 
round-eyed. 

"  Go  out  to  the  Argentine,"  said  Annie. 

"You  knew!" 

"  I  knew  he  would,  sooner  or  later.  Oh,  Jack  I 
He  hasn't  gone  —  without  telling  us?  " 

"No  —  no.  But  he's  written  to  tell  them,  and 
he's  given  notice  at  the  office  —  burnt  his  boats." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  said  Sophy.  "  How  unpleasant 
luncheon  will  be  to-day  1  " 

"  I  hope  he's  doing  wisely,  but  it's  a  long,  long  way 
for  him  to  go,  poor  Roddy,  away  from  us  all,"  said 
Annie  rather  mournfully. 

"  I'm  going  with  him,"  said  young  Meredydd, 
modestly. 

Her  fair  brow  cleared. 

"  Then  you'll  be  able  to  take  care  of  him,"  she 
said;  but  perceiving  the  mortified  expression  of  his 
open  face,  she  added  hastily,  "  we  shall  be  very 
sorry  to  lose  you,  too,  Jack,  of  course." 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  so,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice; 
with  a  quick  glance  that  escaped  even  Sophy's  lynx 
eyes. 

"  It  will  be  duller  than  ever  when  you've  gone. 


3o  THE  TYRANT 

After  all,  you're  the  only  young  man  in  Llanon,"  said 
Sophy.  "  We  could  pretend  to  dance  at  Christmas 
with  one  young  man  to  dance  with  besides  the  boys 
—  now  there'll  be  no  one.  Courtenay  hates  dancing, 
and  you'll  be  away."  She  looked  from  one  to  the 
other  in  dismay. 

"Our  Christmas  parties  were  always  failures," 
said  Annie,  consolingly.  "  They  generally  ended  in 
a  row.  Last  year  Papa  boxed  Corney's  ears  for  up- 
setting the  snapdragon  dish ;  and  sent  me  to  bed,  for 
saying  it  was  a  shame." 
Jack  Meredydd  grew  red. 

"  You  left  in  a  huff,  Jack,  and  very  nice  it  was  of 
you  to  take  my  part,"  said  Annie,  warmly. 

"  I  never  heard  of  any  one  being  sent  to  bed  at 
seventeen,"  he  said,  as  though  in  excuse. 

"  Rodric  said  it  would  be  his  last  Christmas  at 
home  for  many  a  long  day,"  said  Annie.  "  When 
are  you  going,  Jack?  " 

"  As  soon  as  possible  after  Easter." 
"  At  least  he  will  be  here,  and  Courtenay  too,  for 
Easter,"  said  Annie.     "  That's  something." 

"  Who'll  pay  Roddy's  passage  —  for  I'm  sure 
Papa  won't,"  said  Sophy,  who  had  a  practical  mind. 
"  I  expect  he's  saved  enough  money  for  that;  and 
if  he  hasn't  somebody's  sure  to  lend  it  to  him,"  said 
young  Meredydd,  looking  away.  "  There  are  five 
of  us  going.  We  shall  all  stand  by  one  another,  you 
may  be  sure.  Of  course  Rodric  hopes  your  father 
will  do  something  for  him." 


"  I  should  have  thought  he  would  have  known 
Papa  better  by  this  time,"  said  Sophy,  scornfully. 

"  After  all,  he's  the  eldest  son,"  said  Jack. 
"  Having  come  of  age  puts  him,  in  a  way,  on  a  differ- 
ent footing!  " 

Annie  seated  herself  on  a  fallen  log,  and  glanced 
at  Sophy,  and  the  meaning  of  her  glance  was  as  clear 
to  her  sister  as  though  she  had  spoken  the  words, 
Leave  me  alone  with  him,  I  shall  get  more  out  of  him 
by  myself. 

Sophy  sauntered  after  the  little  boys. 

Young  Meredydd  stood  looking  down  upon  the 
maiden  among  the  primroses.  The  washed-out 
pink  cotton  gown  betrayed  every  line  of  Annie's 
pretty  figure;  and  the  sunshine  searched  the  delicate 
bloom  of  her  face  without  revealing  a  single  flaw. 

"  How  kind  of  Sophy  to  go,"  he  said,  warmly. 
"  I  wanted  to  see  you  alone,  Annie.  I  hope  she 
won't  come  back." 

"  I  made  her  a  sign  to  go,"  said  Annie,  calmly. 
"I  wanted  to  ask  you  —  oh,  Jack!"  She  leant 
forward  and  looked  up  at  him,  clasping  her  hands. 
"  Rodric  hasn't  got  into  any  trouble?  " 

"  No,  no,"  he  hastened  to  reassure  her.  "  Why 
should  you  be  always  worrying  about  Rodric.  He's 
a  splendid  fellow  and  as  steady  as  old  Time  in  his 
own  way.  Why  should  you  think  he's  in  trouble 
just  because  he  wants  to  get  away  from  office-work 
which  doesn't  suit  him  a  bit?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.     He's  a  boy,"  said  Annie, 


32  THE  TYRANT 

sagely.  "  People  always  seem  to  expect  boys  to  get 
into  trouble  of  one  kind  or  another.  That's  why  they 
invented  the  excuse  that  Boys  will  be  boys.  No  one 
ever  says  Girls  will  be  girls." 

"  One  expects  a  girl  to  be  more  or  less  of  an 
angel,"  he  said;  and  reddened  as  he  stooped  to 
gather  some  white  violets  which  he  discerned  hiding 
in  a  clump  of  moss  beside  the  log.  He  searched  for 
a  wisp  of  dry  grass  to  tie  them  together,  making  up  a 
tiny  bunch  very  carefully. 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  being  angels,"  said  Annie 
simply.  "  It  is  just  that  we  have  more  common 
sense.  We  don't  expect  to  get  everything  we  want. 
Jack,  do  you  really  think  there's  any  chance  of  Papa's 
giving  Roddy  money  because  he's  come  of  age?  " 

"  I  think  it  will  be  an  infernal  shame  if  he  doesn't," 
said  Jack,  with  the  frankness  of  life-long  intimacy. 
"  Rodric  is  heir  to  Nantgwilt,  and  everyone  knows 
what  that's  worth,  more  or  less." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Annie  quickly.  "  Jack,  I'm 
grown-up  now,  and  yet  I  don't  know  one  single  thing 
about  Papa's  affairs.  I  don't  believe  poor  Mamma 
does,  either.  If  anybody  knows  what  Nantgwilt 
is  worth  /  might  surely  know.  Why  shouldn't  you 
tell  me?" 

"  I  only  know  what  all  the  neighbourhood  knows 
—  vaguely,"  he  said,  reluctlantly.  "I  mean,  of 
course  it's  a  big  estate  —  and  very  good  land  —  and 
the  farms  are  all  very  well  let." 

"Everything's  let,"   said  Annie,   rather  bitterly, 


ANNIE  AMONG  THE  PRIMROSES    33 

"  and  all  the  produce  of  the  home-farm  sold. 
Mamma  has  trouble  enough  to  get  milk  for  the  little 
boys.  Oh,  Jack,  what's  the  good  of  pretending  with 
you,  whom  we've  known  all  our  lives  ?  I've  so  often 
wondered  since  I  grew  up  whether  Papa  is  really  — 
so  poor.  Mamma  says  nothing,  but  you  know  how 
things  get  into  the  air.  Don't  hide  anything  from 
me." 

"  Indeed  —  indeed  —  I  wouldn't.  But  I  know 
no  more  than  Rodric  and  Courtenay  and  all  of  you 
must  know  quite  well.  Of  course  your  father  has  — 
has  the  reputation  of  being  a  very  careful  man." 

"  That  means  he's  a  miser." 

He  protested. 

"  But  there  are  so  many  of  us,"  she  said,  wistfully, 
"  and  boys  are  expensive  though  girls  cost  so  little. 
Perhaps  Papa  is  obliged  to  be  careful." 

Jack  Meredydd  could  not  tell  her  his  opinion  of 
Richard  Kemys.  He  was  silent. 

"  I  know  the  boys  think  all  the  pinching  and  screw- 
ing unnecessary,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  with  ques- 
tioning eyes.  "  Do  you  think  so?  " 

Young  Meredydd  could  not  resist  the  look,  though 
he  desired  sincerely  to  change  the  subject. 

"Yes,  I  do;  since  you  ask  me,"  he  said,  briefly. 
"  Of  course  I've  no  business  to  speak  of  your  father's 
affairs  —  it  would  be  beastly  cheek  on  my  part  — " 

"  But  since  I  ask  you?  "  said  Annie,  softly. 

"  Since  you  ask  me,"  he  said  colouring,  "  Why 
then  —  the  Nantgwilt  estate  must  bring  in  two  or 


34  THE  TYRANT 

three  thousand  a  year  at  the  very  least  —  if  it  brings 
in  a  penny." 

"Two  or  three  thousand  a  year,"   said  Annie, 

under  her  breath. 

"  I  should  think  three  a  very  low  estimate,"  said 
Jack;  now  that  he  had  fairly  started  he  went  reck- 
lessly on  to  the  finish.  "  No  doubt  there  are  the  out- 
goings —  but  everyone  says  he  was  a  rich  man  when 
he  succeeded  your  grandfather.  Of  course  he  may 
have  lost  money  in  his  business  since." 

"Lost  money!"  said  Annie,  quickly.  "He  has 
boasted  to  us  over  and  over  again  that  since  he  started 
life  as  a  younger  son  with  a  thousand  pounds  pour 
tout  potage,  he  has  never  lost  a  halfpenny.  But  I 
thought  the  estate  perhaps  swallowed  up  all  he  had 
made.  Jack  —  if  he's  rich  —  if  he's  even  decently 
well  off, —  what  a  shame  —  what  a  shame  to  have  let 
poor  Mamma  work  and  slave  and  pinch  and  scrape 
all  these  years,  and  to  have  had  all  these  rows  with 
the  boys  over  the  expenses  of  their  education  — "  she 
stopped  short.  "  I  suppose  I  oughtn't  to  say  such 
things,  but  you've  seen  it  all.  It's  just  as  though  you 
were  one  of  our  own  brothers." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  and  then  he  said, 
without  looking  at  her : 

"But  I  want  —  to  be  more  to  you  than  your 
brother  —  Annie.  You  know  I've  always  loved  you 

-  in  a  different  way  from  that  —  ever  since  I  can 
remember." 


ANNIE  AMONG  THE  PRIMROSES     35 

Annie  knew  it,  but  she  uttered  a  faint  sound  of  re- 
proach or  protest. 

Jack  Meredydd  suddenly  found  himself  reflecting 
that  it  was  much  more  difficult  to  make  love  to  a  girl 
he  had  known  all  his  life,  than  to  a  stranger. 

He  came  and  sat  beside  her,  on  the  log.  "  Annie 
dear,"  he  said,  straightforwardly,  "  I'm  four  and 
twenty  now ;  at  that  age  a  fellow  knows  his  own  mind. 
I've  never  really  loved  a  girl  in  my  life  but  you;  and 
even  if  —  if  I've  been  —  a  little  attracted  now  and 
then,  by  others  — "  said  poor  Jack,  who  was  as 
honest  as  he  was  susceptible,  "  I've  never  even  for  a 
moment  dreamt  of  asking  any  girl  in  the  world  to  be 
my  wife  except  you.  I've  always  known  I  wanted 
it  to  be  Annie  Kemys  or  nobody.  I  hadn't  any 
money  —  to  speak  of  —  and  so  I  didn't  dare  ask  you 
—  but  my  old  pater,  now  I've  convinced  him  at  last 
that  I  never  would,  and  never  could  be  a  parson,  is 
going  to  hand  over  my  poor  mother's  little  capital  to 
me  at  once;  so  I  shall  have  my  chance.  I  mean  to 
make  a  fortune  in  the  Argentine  just  as  Rodric  does. 
Annie  darling,  will  you  wait  for  me  —  will  you  ? 
and  marry  me  when  I  come  back?  " 

Young  Meredydd,  though  but  an  awkward  and  in- 
experienced lover,  was  so  much  in  earnest  that  the 
unaccustomed  term  of  endearment  rang  truly,  if 
strangely  in  Annie's  ears,  and  brought  the  warm 
colour  to  her  cheek,  and  the  facile  tears  to  her  blue 
eyes. 


36  THE  TYRANT 

"  Annie  darling,  will  you  wait  for  me?  " 

Annie  was  tired  of  her  dreams,  woven  about 
imaginary  heroes  or  knightly  figures  of  the  past.  She 
was  ripe  for  love  and  brimming  with  romance  as  be- 
came a  maiden  of  her  years.  And  there  is  a  magic 
in  the  first  words  of  wooing  actually  spoken  by  a  liv- 
ing being  of  flesh  and  blood,  which  transcends  the 
magic  of  imagination:  the  surroundings  also  ap- 
pealed to  her  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things,  the  sun- 
shine and  warmth  and  stillness  of  the  perfect  April 
morning  —  the  incense  of  the  woodlands  —  the  rap- 
turous song  of  the  birds  among  the  brown  branches. 

Yet  her  long  eyelashes  drooped,  as  though  to  hide 
the  regret  and  disappointment  that  caused  her  tears 
to  flow. 

Poor  young  Meredydd,  watching  the  lovely  down- 
cast face,  luckily  could  not  divine  the  thought  in  her 
mind.  Oh,  if  it  had  been  anyone  but  Jack! 

To  wait  while  her  lover  made  his  fortune  —  what 
was  that  ?  A  period  of  ecstacy,  of  dreams  brightened 
by  the  reading  and  writing  of  love  letters,  by  the 
anticipation  of  golden  hours  ever  drawing  nearer;  of 
meeting,  of  happiness,  of  triumph  —  the  glory  of  a 
wedding,  the  romance  of  a  honeymoon,  the  dignity 
of  a  home  of  her  own. 

To  be  poor?  She  had  never  known  anything  else, 
Annie  thought  with  a  sigh,  for  she  coveted  pretty 
dresses  and  trinkets  with  all  the  ardour  of  a  healthy 
normal  young  female,  but  she  scorned  the  notion  of 
weighing  these  in  the  balance  with  love.  To  be  con- 


ANNIE  AMONG  THE  PRIMROSES    37 

stant  in  absence?  Annie  was  too  frank  not  to  be 
true. 

But  to  give  up  —  on  the  very  threshold  of  woman- 
hood —  all  the  wonderful  possibilities  that  the  future 
might  hold,  for  the  sake  of  the  good  honest  prosaic 
boy  whom  she  had  known  all  her  life,  who  had  taken 
her  part  in  childish  squabbles,  and  thrown  apples  to 
her  over  the  garden  wall,  and  seen  her  at  her  worst 
as  a  badly  dressed,  long-legged  schoolgirl,  who  had 
no  single  illusion  concerning  her  —  this  prospect 
filled  her  with  dismay. 

She  could  not  bear  to  disappoint  Jack  —  Annie 
was  tender-hearted  —  still  less  did  she  desire  to  go 
husbandless  to  her  grave,  for  she  possessed  a  horror 
of  spinsterhood  not  unnatural  in  a  very  young  girl 
who  had  been  brought  up  in  circles  where  women  who 
do  not  marry  are  looked  upon  as  failures,  and  are 
neither  adequately  provided  for  by  others,  nor  per- 
mitted to  work  for  themselves. 

She  combined  a  strong  common  sense  with  the 
inexperience  of  her  youth,  and  said  to  herself  with  a 
sinking  heart  that  here  was  probably  her  first  and  last 
offer  of  marriage.  She  thought  of  the  two  Miss 
Eyewaters  in  alarm,  and  of  the  dulness  of  Nantgwilt 
in  despair.  But  even  these  fears  for  her  future  did 
not  make  it  possible  for  her  to  connect  honest  Jack 
with  the  romance  which  she  felt,  rather  indignantly, 
would  have  been  so  appropriate  to  the  occasion  and 
the  season,  and  to  her  own  wishes. 

She  looked  down  upon  the  brown  hand  with  its 


38  THE  TYRANT 

rather  short  plebeian  fingers  and  square  nails  which 
Jack  had  ventured,  as  a  shy  approach  to  a  caress,  to 
lay  gently  upon  the  handle  of  the  basket-full  of 
primroses  in  her  lap,  and  the  impulse  to  draw  away 
from  it  became  irresistible. 

"  Oh  Jack,  I  couldn't,"  she  said. 

The  tone  was  so  unmistakably  sincere  that  it  really 
left  no  room  for  a  lover's  pleading,  which  is,  after 
all,  most  eloquent  when  resistance  is  felt  to  be  rather 
assumed  than  real. 

"  Then  I  shan't  have  anything  to  work  for  if  you 
won't  wait  for  me,"  he  said,  blankly. 

"  You'll  have  just  as  much  as  Rodric.  I  hope  he 
isn't  thinking  of  marrying,"  said  Annie,  in  maternal 
reproof.  "  And  you  know,"  suddenly  melting,  "  it 
isn't  that  I  wouldn't  wait  —  or  anything  of  that  kind, 
dear  Jack,  but  only  that  I  can't  think  of  you  in  any 
other  sort  of  way  but  —  the  sort  of  way  I've  thought 
of  you  all  my  life." 

"  All  right,"  said  Jack,  awkwardly,  "  I  under- 
stand." 

Annie  felt  that  even  if  he  had  taken  her  refusal 
differently  there  might  have  been  more  chance  of  her 
repenting  her  decision.  But  poor  Jack  was  no  hero 
of  romance,  and  did  nothing  appropriate  to  the  oc- 
casion. 

He  re-twisted  the  shred  of  dry  grass  round  the 
tiny  bunch  of  scented  white  violets,  and  instead  of 
offering  them  to  her  with  a  reproachful  glance  which 
would  have  haunted  her  memory  with  remorse,  he 


ANNIE  AMONG  THE  PRIMROSES    39 

fitted  them  very  carefully  into  his  own  button-hole. 

Suddenly  an  inspiration  appeared  to  visit  him. 
He  looked  up. 

"  You  might,"  he  suggested,  "  feel  like  this  now, 
and  yet  come  to  think  differently  in  two  or  three  years, 
when  you  haven't  seen  me  for  a  long  time." 

"  I  might"  said  Annie,  doubtfully.  Perhaps  a 
feminine  reluctance  to  let  her  suitor  go  altogether, 
dictated  her  next  words. 

"I'll  try  to  —  unless— " 

"Unless  what?" 

Her  perception  of  his  stupidity  made  her  tone  im- 
patient. 

"  Unless  I  fell  in  love  with  any  one  else,  of  course. 
Not  that  I'm  likely  even  to  see  any  one  else  —  here," 
she  added,  with  unaffected  regret. 

The  reflection,  however,  brought  comfort  to  Jack, 
and  as  he  hated  the  unwonted  sensation  of  melan- 
choly, he  accepted  even  so  small  a  consolation  with 
alacrity. 

"  After  all,"  he  thought,  "  I  must  give  her  time 
to  get  used  to  the  idea.  It's  no  use  trying  to  rush 
a  girl/* 

"  Even  a  little  hope  —  that  it  might  all  come  right 
some  day,  would  make  all  the  difference  to  me,"  he 
remarked,  with  a  brightening  face.  "  I  couldn't  ex- 
pect you  to  jump  at  me,  could  I  ?  I  only  wanted  you 
to  know  what  I  wish,  and  always  shall  wish;  the 
whole  world  is  welcome  to  know  it;  for  I  shall  never 
love  any  one  else  as  I  love  you,  Annie." 


40  THE  TYRANT 

At  this  appropriate  moment  Sophy  thought  fit  to 
return  with  the  little  boys,  and  interrupt  the  tete-a- 
tete,  which  she  judged  had  lasted  long  enough  for 
the  extraction  of  all  Jack's  secrets.  The  slight  ap- 
prehension with  which  she  looked  at  Annie  was  in- 
stantly relieved  by  her  sister's  imperceptible  nod. 

"  Oh,  Sophy,  what  a  quantity  of  primroses  you 
have  gathered." 

"  I  had  nothing  else  to  do,"  said  Sophy.  "  If  only 
I  had  brought  Papa's  field-glasses  I  could  have  seen 
what  everybody  was  about  so  much  more  distinctly. 
Mamma  is  alone  now,  so  I  suppose  Papa  got  tired  of 
rowing  her  and  went  in  to  read  the  newspapers." 

"  Then  since  we  have  plenty  of  primroses  now, 
let's  go  home,"  said  Annie. 

"  I'll  come  with  you,"  said  Jack.  "  I've  got  all 
our  plans  and  calculations  written  out  to  show  your 
father.  It's  not  that  Rodric  funked  it,  of  course,  but 
he  couldn't  get  away  from  his  work,  and  I  had  to 
bring  them  to  show  my  old  pater.  Besides,  I'm  the 
senior  partner,  so  to  speak." 

"  It  had  much  better  be  you,"  said  Annie,  "  you  are 
calm,  and  Papa  won't  bully  you,  and  Rodric  is  hot- 
tempered  and  can't  bear  being  mocked  at,  poor  boy." 

'Nobody  could  mock  at  a  sensible  project  like 
this,"  said  Jack,  stoutly,  but  he  affected  a  confidence 
he  did  not  feel,  for  he  believed  that  Richard  Kemys 
was  quite  capable  of  mocking  the  poor  little  syndi- 
cate he  represented. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  PARSON  IN  THE  VILLAGE 

OLD  Mr.  Meredydd  was  a  widower  with  an  only 
son.  He  had  been  rector  of  Llanon  for  five  and 
thirty  years,  and  had  known  the  father  and  the  elder 
brothers  of  Richard  Kemys. 

He  was  a  rosy-faced,  white  bearded,  cheerful  old 
man,  not  remarkable  for  discretion,  nor  for  any 
great  amount  of  intelligence;  but  his  manner  was 
kind,  his  deeds  were  charitable,  and  his  expression 
benign.  The  discerning  villagers  said  of  him  in- 
dulgently, that  he  meant  well. 

His  beautiful  old  church,  that  was  so  out  of  pro- 
portion to  the  population  of  Llanon,  was  not  very 
well  filled,  because  most  of  his  flock  preferred  the 
little  iron  Bethel  they  had  put  up  at  their  own  ex- 
pense: but  he  bore  this  misfortune  with  resignation, 
visited  churchgoers  and  chapelgoers  alike,  and  filled 
up  his  spare  time  with  antiquarian  research  in  a 
country  abounding  with  geological  and  historical  in- 
terest. 

Mr.  Meredydd  was  fond  of  his  son  and  proud  of 
him;  and  though  it  was  a  disappointment  that  Jack 
refused  to  enter  the  church,  he  was  easily  persuaded 
to  consent  to  his  trying  a  very  different  career. 

41 


42  THE  TYRANT 

"If  you  don't  like  it,  my  boy,  you  can  always  come 
back,"  he  said  in  his  old  trembling  voice,  that  had 
never  uttered  a  harsh  word  to  his  son.  "  As  long 
as  I'm  alive,  there'll  always  be  a  welcome  for  you, 
so  don't  be  afraid  to  let  me  know  quite  frankly  if 
the  scheme  doesn't  turn  out  a  success  after  all.  I 
grant  you  it  looks  well,  very  well  indeed,  on  paper. 
But  youth  is  inclined  to  be  sanguine,  and  there  may 
be  drawbacks  we  know  nothing  about.  But  you'll 
do  your  best,  I  know  that  very  well  indeed,  my  lad, 
and  it's  not  as  though  you  were  going  alone.  But 
all  the  same  you  mustn't  be  afraid  to  come  home  and 
tell  me  if  it's  a  failure." 

Jack  laughed  in  his  sleeve  at  the  notion  of  his  being 
afraid  to  tell  his  father  anything,  and  assured  him 
that  failure  was  impossible.  Then,  carried  away  by 
the  old  man's  sympathy,  he  could  not  resist  making 
him  a  further  confidence. 

Mr.  Meredydd  listened  with  delight,  for  Annie 
Kemys  was  a  favourite  with  him,  as  with  all  the  in- 
habitants of  Llanon;  and  being  troubled  by  no  diffi- 
dence concerning  his  son's  personal  attractions,  the 
possibility  of  disappointment  never  remotely  oc- 
curred to  him. 

Jack  had  chosen  wisely,  he  said,  chuckling,  and  he 
detained  Jack,  then  burning  to  pursue  his  suit,  to 
assure  him  once  more  that  if  the  Argentine  project 
failed  he  must  not  be  too  deeply  concerned. 

There  would  be  enough  to  start  life  with,  for  a 
young  couple  who  had  been  brought  up  to  be  careful 


THE  PARSON  IN  THE  VILLAGE     43 

and  prudent.  Jack  could  look  about  him  and  take 
up  another  career  at  his  leisure.  There  were  plenty 
of  paths  open  to  a  young  man  who  had  got  through 
the  University  so  creditably. 

Jack  listened  impatiently  to  his  father's  platitudes, 
and  escaped  as  soon  as  he  could  to  the  Manor  House. 

When  he  was  gone,  Mr.  Meredydd  took  his  hat 
and  stick,  and  trotted  down  the  village  street. 

The  possession  of  such  a  secret  warmed  his  heart, 
and  made  his  greetings  to  the  passers-by  doubly  kind 
and  amiable. 

"  A  beautiful  spring  morning,"  he  cried  out  to  the 
doctor.  "  It  does  one  good  to  be  alive  on  such  a 
morning  as  this,  eh,  Harries?  " 

"  You  look  as  if  it  did,"  said  the  doctor,  who  had 
fewer  causes  for  self-congratulation. 

He  jumped  down  and  greeted  his  old  friend. 

"  I  wish  you'd  carry  some  of  your  cheerfulness  into 
the  house  I've  just  left." 

"  So  I  will,  so  I  will,"  said  the  rector,  zealously, 
"  the  post-office,  I'm  afraid?  " 

"  Poor  young  Prickard  is  dying,"  said  the  doctor. 

".Is  he  worse?  I  saw  him  yesterday,  he  looked 
better." 

"Another  hemorrhage;  nothing  can  save  him  this 
time.  Well  his  life  need  not  have  been  sacrificed; 
if  he'd  gone  off  to  South  Africa  with  his  brother; 
they  were  much  in  the  same  state,  and  I've  capital 
accounts  of  the  other  fellow.  However  — "  the  doc- 
tor shrugged  his  shoulders  — "  he  wouldn't  go. 


44  THE  TYRANT 

How  any  of  you  can  live  in  this  basin  among  the  hills, 
passes  me." 

"I've  lived  here  thirty-five  years,"  said  Mr. 
Meredydd,  rather  displeased.  "  You  won't  get  me 
to  own  there's  anything  wrong  with  the  climate.  It's 
a  bit  moist." 

"  Moist !    It's  a  vapour  bath !  " 

"  The  Prickards  have  consumption  in  the  family." 

"  They  are  not  the  only  family  in  Llanon  with  a 
tendency  that  way,"  said  Dr.  Harries,  and  he  nodded 
farewell  and  ran  up  the  steps  of  the  Red  House,  to 
pay  his  weekly  visit  to  old  Mrs.  Eyewater. 

Mr.  Meredydd  went  on  his  way  with  his  cheerful- 
ness somewhat  impaired.  He  thought  of  the  number 
of  his  parishioners  who  had  fallen  victims  of  the 
scourge  of  the  west  country,  during  his  long  residence 
in  Llanon ;  among  the  names  that  rose  to  his  memory 
was  that  of  little  Lucy  Kemys. 

"  But  I  never  heard  of  any  other  Kemys  having  a 
tendency  to  anything  of  the  kind,"  he  thought. 
"  Kemys  himself  is  as  strong  as  an  ox,  and  I  never 
remember  Mrs.  Kemys  having  a  day's  illness,  except 
when  her  babies  were  born.  They  are  all  very 
healthy,  except  perhaps  little  Manuel.  Certainly 
little  Manuel  is  a  delicate  child.  But  he  is  the 
youngest,  and  no  doubt  his  mother  has  been  over 
careful  with  him.  Still,  he  does  remind  me  of  poor 
little  Lucy.  I  wish  Richard  Kemys  did  not  carry  his 
prejudice  against  doctors  quite  so  far.  I  don't  care 
for  over  much  doctoring  myself  —  but  there's  reason 


THE  PARSON  IN  THE  VILLAGE     45 

in  all  things  —  Manuel  wants  looking  after  no  doubt. 
Bless  me,  I  wish  the  doctor  had  not  put  such  an  idea 
into  my  head." 

The  rector  like  his  son,  could  not  bear  melancholy, 
and  preferred  always  to  take  an  optimistic  view.  He 
determined  to  call  in  at  the  Manor  House,  feeling 
vaguely  that  a  glance  at  that  clear-complexioned, 
bright-eyed,  well-grown  family,  would  dispel  the  un- 
easiness created  by  the  doctor's  words.  He  was 
enabled  to  put  this  plan  into  execution  the  sooner  be- 
cause on  calling  at  the  post-office,  Mrs.  Prickard  in- 
formed him  that  the  invalid  was  asleep,  and  asked 
him  to  postpone  his  visit. 

The  rector  promised  to  come  again  later  in  the 
day,  and  returning  on  his  way,  called  at  the  Manor 
House  and  found  Mrs.  Kemys  in  her  favourite  rest- 
ing-place beneath  the  cedar,  occupied  with  her  sew- 
ing. 

She  was  very  glad  to  see  him,  and  still  more  glad  to 
learn  that  the  Argentine  scheme  which  concerned  her 
so  nearly,  met  with  his  approval. 

The  rector  was  not,  perhaps,  very  practical,  but  at 
least  he  was  a  man,  and  Mrs.  Kemys  had  been 
brought  up  to  a  blind  belief  in  the  masculine  busi- 
ness capacity. 

"  If  you  could  only  talk  it  over  with  my  husband ! 
I  am  afraid  he  is  very  much  against  Rodric's  going," 
she  said. 

She  was  aware  of  Richard's  contempt  for  Mr. 
Meredydd's  understanding,  but  the  rector's  mild  per- 


46  THE  TYRANT 

suasions  might  possibly  induce  him  to  listen  to  Rod- 
ric's  arguments  in  favour  of  the  scheme. 

"  Jack  is  coming  over  to  do  that.  He  has  all  the 
particulars  at  his  fingers'  ends.  I  do  not  see  how 
Mr.  Kemys  can  object.  My  brother  has  been  out 
there  for  years.  He  is  acting  as  their  adviser,  and 
I  need  hardly  say  he  is  to  be  depended  upon,"  said 
Mr.  Meredydd,  amused  at  the  bare  possibility  that 
a  relative  of  his  own  could  be  distrusted. 

"  Rodric  is  our  eldest  son,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  gen- 
tly defensive.  "It  is  natural  of  course  that  his 
father  should  wish  to  keep  him  at  home." 

"  My  dear  lady,  Jack  is  my  only  son,  and  I  would 
not  lift  a  finger  to  keep  him  at  home  against  his  will," 
cried  the  rector  stoutly. 

Mrs.  Kemys  smiled  faintly.  It  seemed  to  her  so 
absurd  that  the  rector  could  mention  his  homely  plod- 
ding son  in  the  same  breath  as  her  strong  splendid 
Rodric;  and  the  rector  made  a  faint  clacking  sound 
of  deprecation  as  he  reflected  on  the  selfishness  of 
Richard  Kemys. 

Young  Rodric  was  all  very  well,  but  what  was  he 
fit  for  except  emigration?  He  had  had  no  Univer- 
sity education ;  he  had  never  distinguished  himself  at 
anything  but  cricket  and  football;  a  hot-tempered, 
wilful  boy,  who  would  be  all  the  better  for  knocking 
about  the  world  a  bit;  and  if  anything  happened  to 
him,  why  there  were  Courtenay  and  Corney  and  little 
Manuel  still  left.  Whereas  he  was  risking  his  all, 


THE  PARSON  IN  THE  VILLAGE     47 

his  good  steady  lad,  Jack,  who  might  easily  have  be- 
come a  bishop  if  he  had  but  chosen  to  take  orders. 

While  Mrs.  Kemys  smiled,  the  rector  had  tears  in 
his  eyes;  but  it  was  the  same  emotion  of  parental 
pride  that  produced  these  contrary  results. 

"  The  great  thing  is  that  each  lad  should  have  his 
little  bit  of  capital  to  start  with,"  said  the  rector. 
"  Money  breeds  money.  I'm  handing  over  his  poor 
mother's  money  to  Jack.  It  would  have  to  come  to 
him  at  my  death,  you  know,  so  what  signifies  letting 
him  have  it  a  little  sooner?  And  if  he  loses  it,  you 
mustn't  think  that  will  be  the  end  of  all  his  hopes," 
said  the  old  man,  suddenly  bethinking  himself. 
"  No  —  no  —  I've  got  a  little  bit  of  my  own,  you 
know.  Not  much,  but  enough  to  make  sure  he  will 
always  have  plenty  of  bread  and  cheese,  eh  ?  That 
will  all  be  tied  up,  safe  and  sound,  on  —  on  your  — 
on  Jack's  wife."  The  poor  rector  very  nearly  said, 
"  on  your  Annie,"  but  he  stopped  himself  in  time, 
with  a  guilty  blush. 

Mrs.  Kemys  started  also,  and  looked  keenly  at  the 
rector's  flushed  face.  Though  circumstances  had 
kept  her  ignorant  of  business,  she  was  quick-witted 
enough  on  other  matters. 

She  knew  what  was  in  the  rector's  mind  just  as 
surely  as  though  he  had  actually  spoken  Annie's  name 
aloud,  and  had  some  ado  to  conceal  her  resentment. 
But  the  habit  of  self-control  came  to  her  aid,  ancj 
after  a  pause,  she  spoke  quietly. 


48  THE  TYRANT 

"Jack  is  a  good  boy,  and  I  hope  he  will  find  a 
nice  wife  some  day;  but  he  is  too  young  to  think  of 
settling  down  yet,  for  a  long  time." 

As  this  was  also  the  rector's  opinion,  he  could  not 
contradict  Mrs.  Kemys,  but  he  realised  vaguely  a  new 
and  indefinable  want  of  sympathy  in  her  tone  and 
manner.  She  spoke  for  the  first  time  as  though  Jack 
were  a  stranger,  an  outsider,  on  a  different  level. 

It  was  impossible  for  the  rector  to  suspect  anyone 
so  uniformly  gentle  and  humble  as  Mrs.  Kemys  of  an 
attempt  to  patronize  Jack;  but  nevertheless  for  the 
second  time  that  morning,  poor  Mr.  Meredydd's 
happy  content  with  himself  and  the  world  in  general, 
was  disturbed. 

His  easily  restored  composure,  however,  returned 
when  the  young  people  presently  came  through  the 
garden,  talking  and  laughing,  and  laden  with  prim- 
roses. 

Annie  looked  a  trifle  more  pensive  than  usual,  as 
became  a  maiden  who  had  that  morning  received  and 
declined  her  first  offer  of  marriage.  Little  Manuel 
clung  to  her  right  hand,  and  Jack  walked  on  her  other 
side. 

The  rector,  looking  from  her  lovely  flushed  face 
to  Jack's  honest  freckled  countenance,  thought  with 
delight  that  they  made  a  handsome  couple ;  but  Mrs. 
Kemys  saw  an  ordinary  looking  square-built  young 
man  walking  beside  "  a  daughter  of  the  gods,  di- 
vinely tall,  and  most  divinely  fair."  Annie's  mother 
experienced  a  most  unwonted  sensation  of  indignation 


THE  PARSON  IN  THE  VILLAGE     49 

and  revolt.  She  would  not  have  it.  Her  pretty 
Annie  — 

At  the  bottom  of  her  heart  she  craved  intensely 
that  her  child  should  possess  all  the  good  things  in 
life  that  she  had  missed.  Poverty  and  anxiety,  care 
and  obscurity  had  been  her  lot  always.  They  should 
not  be  Annie's  portion  if  she  could  help  it. 

If  she  could  help  it!  But  alas,  how  powerless  she 
was.  A  woman  tied  hand  and  foot  by  convention: 
entirely  dependent  upon  and  subject  to,  an  abnormally 
selfish  and  imperious  mate;  and  without  a  penny  of 
her  own  in  the  world. 

It  was  that  which  rendered  her  so  helpless. 

Not  a  penny  in  the  world  of  her  own. 

For  the  last  two  and  twenty  years  of  her  life  she 
had  been  occupied  entirely  with  child-bearing  and 
child-rearing,  and  a  thousand  household  cares ;  work- 
ing harder  than  any  servant  in  the  house,  and  en- 
tirely and  submissively  anxious  to  fail  in  no  possible 
duty. 

She  had  seen  old  servants  of  the  former  owners  of 
Nantgwilt  granted  pensions  after  twenty  years  serv- 
ice; for  Richard's  father  had  been  liberal  and  gen- 
erous. Even  Sharman,  the  old  nurse,  took  her  an- 
nual holiday.  But  neither  holiday  nor  pension  fell 
to  the  share  of  her  mistress. 

Some  day,  if  she  outlived  her  husband,  no  doubt 
both  the  holiday  and  the  pension  would  be  granted 
to  her;  but  Mrs.  Kemys  was  far  too  busy  a  woman 
not  to  live  in  the  present,  and  too  industrious  to  sigh 


5o  THE  TYRANTi 

for  leisure.     She  sighed  only  for  the  children's  sake 

If  she  could  have  had  anything  of  her  own,  how- 
ever little.  To  be  able  to  help  the  boys,  secretly,  to 
some  of  the  innocent  pleasures  arbitrarily  denied 
them ;  to  buy  the  extra  luxury  for  the  ailing  child ;  the 
new  dress  or  becoming  hat  for  the  pretty,  discon- 
tented daughter. 

Even  if  her  husband  would  have  given  her  an  al- 
lowance for  the  household  bills,  from  which  she  could 
have  saved  —  secret  aspiration  of  many  a  thrifty, 
anxious  housewife  who  has  no  reward  for  economy 
to  look  for,  when  there  is  no  possibility  of  margin; 
when  all  her  efforts  only  amount  to  the  despairing 
certainty  that  whatever  she  has  spent,  it  is  too  much. 

As  though  the  children  could  be  fed  and  clothed 
and  brought  up  for  nothing,  she  had  thought,  during 
those  long  years  when  worry  robbed  her  of  her  sleep, 
and  stole  the  colour  from  her  cheeks  and  the  bright- 
ness from  her  eyes,  and  drew  lines  of  care  down  her 
thin  face. 

Richard  Kemys  did  not  worry:  when  he  was  anx- 
ious or  discontented  or  annoyed,  he  let  people  know 
it,  as  he  would  have  said  himself.  His  angry  voice, 
his  ebullitions  of  temper,  and  his  threats  against  his 
household,  were  all  so  many  safety  valves.  When  the 
storm  of  his  indignation  had  burst  he  returned  to  his 
senses  and  enjoyed  his  meals  and  his  sleep,  and  the 
contemplation  of  the  figures  in  his  bank  books,  which 
occupied  so  many  of  his  waking  hours. 

He  hated  parting  with  his  money,  and  he  grudged 


THE  PARSON  IN  THE  VILLAGE      51 

every  unnecessary  expense,  and  not  a  few  necessary 
ones. 

He  said  truly  that  if  he  had  not  done  so  when  he 
started  life,  as  a  younger  son,  with  only  his  godmoth- 
er's thousand  pounds  to  fall  back  on,  he  would  never 
have  made  a  fortune  at  all.  He  had  mastered  all 
desire  to  spend  his  money  then,  and  now  in  its  turn 
the  love  of  saving  had  mastered  him. 

Like  many  another  husband  and  father  he  had  no 
idea  of  making  his  wife  in  any  way  independent  of 
him,  and  preferred  to  inspect  every  detail  of  her 
household  and  personal  expenses,  and  to  dole  out  to 
her  the  exact  sums  required  to  defray  them. 

The  items  were  often  so  fiercely  disputed  that  the 
trades-people,  no  less  than  Mrs.  Kemys  herself, 
dreaded  the  monthly  payday.  He  was  so  deter- 
mined that  no  one  should  know  his  affairs,  that  he 
kept  two  or  three  separate  banking  accounts;  and  at 
the  time  of  his  marriage  left  the  family  solicitor, 
Mr.  Turley,  who  had  managed  the  Nantgwilt  estate 
for  years,  for  a  stranger  and  rival,  but  recently  settled 
in  Llysdinam.  His  wife  knew  that  his  London  law- 
yer, Mr.  Toavan,  assisted  him  in  collecting  the  profits 
from  his  business,  now  left  almost  entirely  in  the 
hands  of  John  Bond,  his  manager  and  head-clerk; 
but  of  what  these  profits  consisted  she  had  not  the 
vaguest  idea,  yet  she  had  grounds  for  believing  them 
to  be  not  inconsiderable.  It  is  difficult  for  a  man  to 
be  always  on  guard  with  his  wife,  and  Mrs.  Kemys 
was  observant,  if  she  had  learnt  to  be  silent. 


52  THE  TYRANT 

She  noted  the  expression  on  his  face  sometimes 
when  he  had  been  shut  up  with  the  postbag  in  his 
study,  on  certain  mornings;  and  being  aware  of  his 
ruling  passion,  knew  that  the  tidings  he  had  received 
must  have  gratified  it  in  one  form  or  another.  But 
he  never  relaxed  the  rule  of  economy  in  the  slightest 
degree. 

During  the  previous  summer,  on  Annie's  eight- 
eenth birthday,  when  his  wife,  taking  her  courage  in 
both  hands,  had  proposed  that  they  should  give  a  gar- 
den party,  Mr.  Kemys  had  flown  into  a  rage  which 
had  discomposed  his  trembling  household  for  many 
days. 

Why  should  he  be  expected  to  entertain  the  coun- 
ty? A  plain  country  squire,  who  had  not  been 
ashamed  to  go  into  business  and  to  work  longer  hours 
than  any  clerk  he  had  ever  seen?  Every  one  knew 
who  he  was  and  all  about  him.  There  had  been  a 
Kemys  of  Nantgwilt  before  most  of  his  neighbours 
had  ever  been  heard  of.  There  was  no  need  for  him 
to  spend  money  to  prove  his  position. 

For  Annie's  sake,  Mrs.  Kemys  had  withstood  him 
more  firmly  than  usual.  She  had  even  shed  tears, 
though  she  was  a  woman  not  given  to  the  display  of 
emotion.  The  desire  to  weep  had  left  her,  no  less 
than  the  desire  to  laugh.  But  the  tears  in  Annie's 
blue  eyes  had  power  to  move  her  as  no  grief  of  her 
own  would  have  moved  her. 

It  would  cost  so  little,  she  had  pleaded.  There 
was  the  garden,  the  beautiful  old  china  and  silver  put 


THE  PARSON  IN  THE  VILLAGE     53 

away,  it  was  a  pity  they  should  never  be  seen ;  the  fruit 
in  plenty,  more  than  they  could  use.  It  meant  little 
more  than  new  dresses  for  the  girls.  They  must 
have  new  dresses  now,  and  then.  She  herself  could 
manage  without  —  poor  Mrs.  Kemys  swallowed  a 
sigh. 

"  I  daresay,  and  the  next  thing  would  be  that  you 
would  want  to  take  Annie  to  other  people's  garden 
parties,  driving  all  over  the  country,  dressing  her  up 
and  turning  her  head  and  killing  the  horses." 

"Why  not?  It  went  to  my  heart  to  refuse  to 
take  her  to  Artramont,  and  yet  she  had  nothing  fit 
to  wear.  It's  very  hard  on  the  girl  that  she  should 
go  nowhere,  poor  Annie  —  so  pretty  as  she  is,  and 
how  is  she  ever  to  —  to  meet  any  one?  " 

"  So  that  is  all  your  idea.  To  get  her  married. 
I  know  what  your  meeting  any  one  means.  I  can 
tell  you  I  have  no  wish  to  throw  my  daughter  at  peo- 
ple's heads,"  thundered  Mr.  Kemys,  with  such  indig- 
nation that  his  wife  really  felt  as  though  she  had  been 
guilty  of  unwomanly  scheming. 

"If  any  man  wishes  to  marry  her,  he  can  come 
and  tell  me  so.  She's  not  shut  up  in  prison.  Every 
one  knows  who  she  is,  and  where  she  is.  I'll  not 
have  her  taught  to  squander  money  on  clothes,  nor 
to  gad  about  looking  for  a  husband." 

"  Oh,  Richard,  you  know  I  was  far  from  thinking 
of  anything  of  the  kind." 

"  What  else  do  your  plans  amount  to,  I  should 
like  to  know,"  he  said,  and  she  was  silent,  conscience- 


54  THE  TYRANT 

stricken;  yet  presently  returning  bravely  to  the 
charge. 

"  She  is  past  eighteen.  She  ought  to  come  out. 
She  has  a  right  to  expect  that  we  should  make  a  little 
effort  for  her.  Boys  are  sent  out  into  the  world,  or 
to  college, —  and  girls,  who  have  so  much  less  done 
for  them,  who  cost  so  little,  poor  things, —  have  only 
this  to  look  forward  to.  A  few  years  of  youth  and 
prettiness  and  amusement,  just  time  to  look  about 
them,  before  they  settle  down  for  life.  Even  I  had 
that,  Richard." 

"How  much  the  better  were  you  for  it?"  he 
asked  derisively.  "  Yes,  you  were  taken  to  London ; 
where  I've  no  doubt  you'd  take  Annie  if  you 
could—" 

"  I  would,"  she  cried,  with  a  touch  of  her  old 
spirit,  so  long  quiescent. 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  answered,  scornfully.  "  You 
would  drag  her  up  to  town  and  make  a  fool  of  her, 
because  a  silly  old  woman  chose  to  take  you  up  to 
London  when  you  were  a  girl.  And  what  good  did 
it  do  you  ?  You  came  back  to  the  Red  House,  where 
you'd  lived  all  your  life,  and  were  glad  enough  to 
marry  the  man  at  whose  doors  you'd  been  brought 
up." 

A  bright  pink  colour  glowed  in  Annette's  white 
face. 

[  had-— other  chances,   Richard,"  she  said. 
Eut  you  preferred  the  man  you'd  known  all  your 
life,"  he  said,  with  that  triumphant,   angry  laugh 


THE  PARSON  IN  THE  VILLAGE     55 

which  always  jarred  upon  his  wife,  and  to  which  she 
was  obliged  to  listen  so  often. 

She  shuddered,  yet,  womanlike,  was  quick  to  try 
and  turn  to  her  purpose  the  rare  allusion  to  that  past 
when  he  had  loved  her  after  his  own  fashion,  or  at 
least,  desired  her  with  all  the  force  and  passion  of 
which  his  masterful  and  egotistical  nature  was  capa- 
ble. 

She  laid  a  thin  hand,  worn  in  his  service,  upon  his 
arm. 

"  And  if  I  did  prefer  you,  Richard,"  she  said,  in 
a  low  tone,  u  it  was  because  you  —  fell  in  love  with 
me,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  What's  the  good  of  asking  questions  like  that 
now?  "  he  said  impatiently. 

"  Because  I  want  Annie  to  have  her  chance,"  she 
said.  "  You  wouldn't  have  looked  at  me,  Richard, 
if  I'd  never  been  outside  Llanon, —  if  I'd  been 
dressed  as  poor  Annie  is  now  — " 

"  That's  just  like  a  woman.  What  have  clothes 
got  to  do.  with  it?  When  a  man  is  fool  enough  to 
get  married  he  doesn't  choose  a  girl  for  her  clothes." 

She  avoided  argument.  "  It  makes  all  the  dif- 
ference to  the  girl  to  be  badly  dressed.  It  makes 
her  unhappy  and  discontented  —  even  if  she  is  the 
sweetest  girl  on  earth.  And  surely  if  we  can  afford 
it — "  she  urged. 

"Who  says  we  can  afford  it?"  he  said  angrily. 
"  Understand  once  for  all,  I  won't  be  told  I  can 
afford  this  or  that.  Annie  lives  in  a  very  different 


5  6  THE  TYRANT 

home  from  the  Red  House,  and  is  surrounded  by 
every  comfort.  If  she's  discontented  or  ungrateful, 
send  her  to  me,  that's  all.  Don't  let  me  hear  an- 
other word  on  that  subject." 

The  purport  of  this  conversation  returned  to  the 
memory  of  Mrs.  Kemys  when  she  looked  at  Annie 
walking  beside  Jack  Meredydd,  and  thought  de- 
spairingly—  what  could  she  do  for  her  child? 

Mr,  Meredydd  and  Jack  went  off  together  imme- 
diately to  lay  the  particulars  of  the  Argentine  scheme 
before  Mr.  Kemys  in  his  study ;  Sophy  took  the  little 
boys  up  to  the  nursery  to  be  made  ready  for  luncheon, 
and  Mrs.  Kemys  went  slowly  into  the  house  and  up 
the  shallow  creaking  stairs  of  oak,  into  her  long  low- 
ceiled  bedroom  on  the  first  floor;  whither  Annie  fol- 
lowed her,  and  stood  beside  the  dressing-table  play- 
ing absently  with  the  old-fashioned  Dresden  toilet 
set. 

"Mamma,  what  does  Papa  say  about  Rodric? 
Jack  has  told  us  all  about  it.  Will  Papa  give  him 
the  money  to  go?  Jack  thought  he  would  because 
Roddy  has  come  of  age,  but  I  don't  believe  that  will 
make  any  difference,  will  it?  " 

"  My  dear,  how  can  I  tell?  Papa  will  do  what 
he  thinks  best,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  sighing. 

'You  might  be  frank  with  me,  Mamma,"  said 
Annie,  impatiently.  "  I'm  not  a  child  now.  I  am 
sure  a  girl  of  eighteen  —  nearly  nineteen,  is  older 
than  a  boy  of  one  and  twenty  any  day." 


THE  PARSON  IN  THE  VILLAGE     57 

"  That  is  true,"  Mrs.  Kemys  acknowledged. 
"  You  are  grown-up,  darling,  though  it  is  so  hard 
to  believe  it.  Sometimes  I  wish  you  could  all  have 
remained  little  for  ever.  Life  would  have  been  so 
much  simpler." 

"  Oh,  Mamma,  what  is  the  use  of  talking  such 
nonsense,"  Annie  asked,  with  the  despair  of  one  who 
asks  for  facts,  and  is  obliged  to  listen  to  sentiment 
altogether  beside  the  point.  "  You  might  be  thank- 
ful we  have  grown  up,  and  can  stand  up  for  our- 
selves a  little.  And  Roddy  will;  for  if  Papa  won't 
help  him  to  go  to  the  Argentine,  he'll  certainly  go 
all  the  same,  only  he'll  be  obliged  to  borrow  the 
money." 

"  Surely  he  would  never  do  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Kemys  in  horror,  "  and  who  would  lend  it  to  him?  " 

"  I  suppose  he  could  do  what  other  eldest  sons  do, 
and  go  to  the  Jews,"  said  Annie,  calmly.  "  One 
reads  of  boys  doing  such  things,  selling  their  rever- 
sion, or  whatever  they  call  it.  And  though  Papa 
wouldn't  have  any  rejoicings  for  Roddy's  coming  of 
age,  or  do  anything  that  ordinary  fathers  do,  it 
doesn't  alter  the  fact  that  Roddy  is  the  eldest  son, 
and  that  Nantgwilt  must  be  his  one  day." 

Mrs.  Kemys  shook  her  head. 

"  I  don't  think  poor  Roddy  could  borrow  any- 
thing on  the  strength  of  that.  The  entail  ended 
with  your  grandfather  —  it  wasn't  renewed.  And 
if  Papa  chose  to  leave  the  property  away  from  Rod- 
ric  he  could  do  it." 


5 8  THE  TYRANT 

"  He  would  never  do  anything  so  wicked,"  said 
Annie,  vehemently.  "  Nantgwilt  has  been  handed 
down  from  father  to  son  for  generations,  and  which 
of  the  others  would  take  it  while  Rodric  was  alive?  " 
"  Oh,  my  dear,  I  don't  know.  One  never  can  tell 
what  anyone  will  do  where  property  is  concerned," 
said  Mrs.  Kemys  in  her  sad  lifeless  tones.  "  I  hope 
Roddy  won't  defy  Papa." 

But  she  knew  that  Rodric  would  go,  and  Annie 
was  aware  that  she  knew. 

"  It  will  end  in  Jack  Meredydd  lending  him  the 
money,"  she  said,  hastily  turning  away  from  the  look- 
ing glass,  which  reflected  the  deepening  colour  on  her 
tell-tale  face. 

"  Did  Jack  say  anything  about  it?"  said  Mrs. 
Kemys,  quickly. 

"  Yes,  no  —  he  said  somebody  would  lend  it.  Of 
course  he  meant  himself.  He's  got  something  to 
lend  now,  and  —  and  you  know  how  fond  he  is  of  — 
of  Roddy."  Annie  faltered,  and  meeting  her  moth- 
er's eyes,  turned  away  petulantly. 

"  Annie  —  dearest  —  you  wouldn't  hide  anything 
from  me,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  entreatingly. 

She  came  and  put  her  arms  about  that  soft,  beau- 
tiful figure,  and  drew  the  bright  head  on  to  her 
shoulder.  "  Annie,  darling." 

'  There's  nothing  to  tell,"  Annie  said,  but  she  suf- 
fered her  mother's  embrace  less  impatiently  than 
usual.  "  He  wanted  me  to  —  to  wait  till  he  came 
back." 


THE  PARSON  IN  THE  VILLAGE     59 

'  You've  not  engaged  yourself  to  him?  " 

"  No,  I  said  I  couldn't.  I've  promised  nothing. 
I  said  he  might  —  I  suppose  it  amounted  to  saying 
he  might  try  again  when  he  came  back  —  if  — " 

"  If  you  found  no  one  you  liked  better  mean- 
while?" 

"  I  suppose  that's  what  I  meant.  I  said  some- 
thing like  that,"  faltered  Annie. 

'  You  don't  care  for  him,  then?  " 

"Not  in  that  way  —  Oh,  Mother,  how  could  I? 
Jack  Meredydd;  it  would  take  all  the  romance 
out  of  everything." 

"  Thank  God,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys. 

Annie  was  surprised  at  the  unusual  vehemence  of 
her  mother's  tone. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  thank  God,"  she 
said,  dejectedly.  '  Very  likely  I've  done  a  foolish 
thing.  It  would  be  better  to  marry  Jack  Meredydd, 
I  suppose,  than  to  stick  on  here  for  ever,  Sophy  and 
me;  growing  like  the  two  Miss  Eyewaters,  and  Papa 
rowing  us  from  morning  till  night." 

"  Oh,  Annie,  it  won't  be  always  like  this.  A  way 
will  be  found.  You're  only  eighteen  and  a  half. 
Wait  a  little,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Kemys. 

"  It's  all  very  well  to  say  a  way  will  be  found. 
What  way?  "  said  Annie.  "  I  know  you'd  do  any- 
thing you  could,  Mamma.  It's  not  your  fault.  At 
least,  not  altogether." 

"Not  altogether  my  fault!"  said  Mrs.  Kemys. 
She  uttered  an  astonished  sound  between  laughing 


60  THE  TYRANT 

and  crying.  "  Why,  what  more  could  I  do,  An- 
nie?" 

Annie  looked  at  her,  half  frightened  at  her  own 
daring,  impatient  and  pitying  at  the  same  time. 

"  Oh,  Mamma,  if  —  if  only  you  had  the  cour- 
age — "  she  said,  hardly  above  her  breath.  "  Often 
and  often  have  we  all  said  it,  the  boys  and  Sophy 
and  I,  though  we  know  very  well  how  hard  it  is  for 
you  —  but  if  only  you  had  had  the  courage  to  hold 
your  own  against  Papa  —  how  much,  much  better 
it  would  have  been  for  us  all." 


CHAPTER  IV] 

THE   GRANDMOTHER   IN  THE   COTTAGE 

THE  midday  meal  at  Nantgwilt  was  only,  distin- 
guished by  conviviality  when  the  master  of  the  house 
was  absent. 

On  this  particular  day  it  was  even  gloomier  than 
usual. 

Annie  and  Sophy  were  secretly  resentful  of  their 
parent's  want  of  hospitality,  since  his  audible  dismis- 
sal of  the  rector  and  his  son  on  the  plea  that  the 
luncheon  bell  was  ringing  had  reached  their  horrified 
ears. 

Mr.  Meredydd  was  accustomed  to  the  squire's 
ways,  and  would  not  have  stayed  had  he  been  in- 
vited to  remain  instead  of  pressed  to  depart;  but 
Annie  and  Sophy  exchanged  glances  of  dismay  none 
the  less,  as  they  paused  on  the  staircase  landing,  out 
of  sight  of  the  vestibule  where  Mr.  Kemys  was 
speeding  his  parting  guests. 

"  He  might  have  asked  them,"  Sophy  whispered 
indignantly.  "  Considering  they  came  here  only  on 
Rodric's  business." 

"  There  is  plenty  of  mutton  in  the  house.  Papa 
knows  that  well  enough,  since  old  Pugh  killed  a  sheep 

61 


62  THE  TYRANT 

last  Thursday,"  said  Annie,  "but  I  suppose  he 
grudges  them  even  mutton." 

"  One  comfort  is  they  will  get  a  much  better  lunch- 
eon at  home,"  said  Sophy  viciously.  'They  are 
laughing.  Listen.  Papa  can't  be  so  very  cross. 
He  is  telling  them  a  funny  story !  " 

"  Which?  "  said  Annie,  with  unconscious  satire. 

The  dining-room  was  dimly  lighted  by  four  low 
windows  with  heavily  leaded  casements,  framed  in 
Virginia  creeper  and  climbing  roses. 

The  portraits  of  the  Kemys  family  which  hung 
upon  the  oak  panels  were  black  with  age,  and  the  gilt 
frames  tarnished. 

The  heavy  carving  of  the  oak  ceiling,  though  ex- 
quisite in  itself,  did  not  add  to  the  brightness  of  the 
room;  and  the  prevailing  gloom  was  reflected  upon 
the  owner's  face  as  he  took  his  seat  at  the  head  of 
the  long  table  and  uttered  a  short,  angry  grace. 

The  primroses  had  been  hastily  arranged  in  thin 
battered  bowls  of  Jacobean  silver. 

The  plate  at  Nantgwilt  was  plentiful  and  valua- 
ble, and  numerous  precautions  were  taken  to  safe- 
guard it.  The  heavily  embossed  silver  dishes,  the 
weighty  Georgian  candlesticks,  the  massive  salvers, 
jugs  and  drinking  cups  that  ornamented  table  and 
sideboard,  were  familiar  objects  in  the  eyes  of  the 
Kemys  children,  and  they  would  gladly  have  ex- 
changed them  all  for  pewter,  if  they  could  have  been 
assured  of  a  greater  variety  and  abundance  in  their 


GRANDMOTHER  IN  THE  COTTAGE     63 

daily  fare.  For  meals  in  the  Manor  House  were 
governed  by  the  parsimony  of  the  master,  and  boys 
and  girls  alike  revolted  against  perpetual  mutton  and 
rice  pudding. 

Richard  Kemys  cared  little  what  he  ate  or  drank, 
and  often  talked  of  selling  the  wine  wherewith  his 
father  had  re-stocked  the  cellars :  but  as  he  had  been 
advised  that  the  greater  part  of  it  would  become 
more  valuable  still,  he  deferred  the  proposed  sale. 

He  attributed  the  excellent  health  he  had  always 
enjoyed  to  his  sparseness  of  diet,  and  held  the  theory 
that  all  modern  men  and  women  ate  and  drank  more 
than  was  good  for  them.  Mr.  Kemys  grew  stout 
notwithstanding  his  general  abstemiousness,  but  his 
growing  boys  and  girls  resented  the  application  of 
the  theory  to  themselves,  and  the  village  cried  shame 
upon  their  squire,  because  his  children  were  known 
to  spend  their  pocket-money  on  biscuits,  though  Mr. 
Kemys  remained  equally  unaware  of  this  fact,  and 
of  the  comments  it  aroused. 

He  carved  the  mutton  in  a  silence  unbroken,  and 
the  old  man-servant  handed  it  round,  while  Mrs. 
Kemys  ladled  out  the  potatoes  and  the  cauliflower. 

The  little  boys  in  their  blue  jerseys  sat  still  as  mice; 
their  awestruck  faces  every  now  and  then  disappear- 
ing into  the  silver  tankards  which  held  their  meas- 
ured allowance  of  milk,  and  re-emerging,  flushed  with 
the  double  exertion  of  lifting  the  mugs  and  imbibing 
the  contents. 

Annie  and  Sophy,  as  determined  to  save  appear- 


64  THE  TYRANT 

ances  as  girls  of  their  age  usually  are,  made  sotto 
voce  remarks  across  the  table  to  each  other,  or  to 
their  mother,  at  intervals,  and  surreptitiously  fed  the 
spaniel,  who  lurked  discreetly  beneath  the  table  out 
of  reach  of  his  master's  foot. 

The  appearance  of  a  rhubarb  tart  evolved  unwary 
exclamations  of  pleasure  from  Corney  and  Manuel, 
but  their  faces  fell  when  their  father  remarked  that 
it  was  too  sweet  to  need  any  sugar,  and  sent  a  mes- 
sage of  reproof  to  the  cook. 

Their  wry  faces  over  the  rhubarb  provoked  a 
sharp  lecture,  which  culminated  in  dismissal,  upon 
Manuel's  infantile  attempt  to  soften  the  acidity  by 
pouring  a  little  milk  into  his  plate,  which  not  unnat- 
urally resulted  in  the  upsetting  of  the  heavy  tank- 
ard. 

The  culprit  was  led  from  the  dining-room  in  tears, 
by  his  brother,  who  prudently  administered  no  con- 
solation until  he  was  safely  out  of  his  father's  hear- 
ing. 

This  incident  and  the  outburst  of  parental  wrath 
it  produced  appeared  to  relieve  the  settled  gloom 
of  Mr.  Kemys. 

He  delivered  a  short  soliloquy  over  his  cheese  and 
single  glass  of  port-wine,  upon  the  want  of  common 
intelligence  displayed  by  his  recent  visitors  during 
their  attempt  to  enlist  his  sympathy  for  the  would- 
be  emigrants,  and  he  became  almost  cheerful  over 
the  recollection  of  their  failure. 

"  Of  course  to  me  the  whole  thing   is   evident 


GRANDMOTHER  IN  THE  COTTAGE     65 

enough,"  he  said  contemptuously.  "  Old  Mere- 
dydd's  brother  has  an  eye  on  a  ranch  next  his  own 
out  there,  and  doesn't  know  how  to  get  hold  of  it, 
so  he  inspires  his  fool  of  a  nephew  with  a  plan  for 
collecting  sufficient  capital  to  buy  it,  and  bring  out  a 
lot  of  young  idiots  to  work  it  under  his  benevolent 
supervision.  Jack  had  the  impudence  to  tell  me  that 
Rodric  was  the  only  one  of  the  precious  gang  who 
had  expectations.  I'll  show  him  what  Rodric's  ex- 
pectations are  worth.  It's  a  plot  to  get  money  out  of 
me,  neither  more  nor  less.  Well,  I  made  it  pretty 
plain  to  them  that  if  Rodric  joined  their  fine  syndi- 
cate he'd  not  get  a  brass  farthing  from  me  now,  nor 
hereafter.  He'll  get  his  present  allowance  cut  off, 
and  that  will  be  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  it  all, 
so  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

His  wife  and  daughters  sat  still,  listening  to  this 
tirade  with  downcast  eyes.  It  was  quicker  in  the 
end,  they  had  often  told  each  other,  not  to  interrupt 
Papa.  A  scornful  or  indignant  mien  sometimes 
roused  him  to  redoubled  wrath  or  eloquence;  and 
long  practice  had  enabled  them  to  banish  expression 
from  their  faces,  and  to  listen  without  a  sign  of  dis- 
sent. 

"  I'll  take  one  of  you  girls  into  Llysdinam  with 
me  in  the  dogcart,  if  you  like,"  said  Mr.  Kemys, 
when  he  was  at  last  convinced  that  he  had  made  his 
intentions  as  regarded  Rodric  sufficiently  clear. 
"  I'm  going  to  see  Machon  on  business,  and  if  one 
of  you  comes,  there'll  be  no  need  to  take  Thomas 


66  THE  TYRANT 

away  from  his  work  to  hold  the  horse  outside  the 
office," 

"  I'll  come,"  said  Annie,  at  once  interpreting  and 
replying  to  the  look  of  entreaty  on  her  mother's 
face. 

"  Mind  you  don't  put  on  a  flyaway  hat  or  any 
nonsense  of  that  kind,"  said  her  father  gruffly,  but 
his  brow  cleared  slightly  at  the  readiness  of  her  ac- 
ceptance. 

As  soon  as  he  had  departed  to  the  study,  the  ladies 
shut  themselves  safely  into  the  drawing-room  and 
the  reason  for  Annie's  alacrity  was  made  manifest. 

"  We  want  to  finish  our  white  gowns,  Mamma, 
and  I  must  get  some  embroidery  cotton.  Sophy  has 
a  lovely  pattern." 

"  My  dear,  I  can  give  you  no  more  money,  and 
you  know  Papa  does  not  like  you  to  do  commissions 
when  you're  out  with  him." 

"  Don't  worry  yourself,  mother  dear.  He's 
always  ages  and  ages  in  Mr.  Machon's  office,  and  I 
shall  persuade  someone  to  hold  the  horse  and  get  my 
commissions  done  in  a  moment.  He  will  be  none  the 
wiser.  I  rather  like  playing  him  a  little  trick,"  said 
Annie  coaxingly;  "and  as  for  money,  Sophy  and  I 
have  found  a  way  to  raise  a  little." 

"Annie!  You  said  it  should  be  private,"  said 
Sophy  warningly. 

I  don't  mind  Mamma,  she  won't  give  us  away." 

"  But  she  might  forbid  us." 

"  She  won't." 


GRANDMOTHER  IN  THE  COTTAGE     67 

"  Children,  I  hope  you  are  doing  nothing  wrong," 
said  Mrs.  Kemys  with  anxious  looks. 

'  There's  nothing  wrong.  The  things  were  our 
own,"  said  Annie  fearlessly.  "  We  saw  an  adver- 
tisement about  old  jewelry  being  bought  and  we  sent 
our  coral  necklaces  and  got  seven  shillings  each  for 
them,  and  we're  going  to  send  some  more  of  our 
things." 

"  My  dears !  Those  pretty  old  corals  mounted 
in  gold,  they  were  worth  far  more  than  that,"  said 
Mrs.  Kemys  in  dismay. 

"  They  weren't  worth  more  than  that  to  us"  said 
Sophy.  "  Our  new  frocks  are  worth  more  to  us 
than  sets  of  baby  corals.  White  cotton  frocks  would 
be  just  nothing  without  embroidery.  I  am  sure  we 
shall  have  to  work  hard  enough  as  it  is." 

"  Mother,  think  how  we  need  new  frocks,"  said 
Annie  reproachfully. 

Mrs.  Kemys  could  not  deny  their  need.  She 
looked  round  at  the  Buhl  cabinets  ranged  against  the 
panel  of  the  drawing-room.  Cabinets  and  contents 
were  worth  a  small  fortune.  The  price  of  a  single 
article  of  vertu  among  the  many  which  surrounded 
her  would  have  eased  her  daily  burden. 

There  was  a  Vandyck  portrait  of  the  most  im- 
portant of  the  past  owners  of  Nantgwilt,  one  Cor- 
nelius Kemys,  the  son  of  a  Dutch  heiress,  and  himself 
known  as  the  Miser,  since  he  had  bought  all  his 
neighbour's  lands  and  added  them  to  the  estate  which 
had  formerly  been  but  small  and  insignificant.  This 


68  THE  TYRANT 

picture  was  known  to  be  worth  several  thousand 
pounds.  It  hung  above  a  mantel  carved  by  Grinling 
Gibbons.  A  Venetian  chandelier  of  the  rarest  kind 
was  suspended  from  the  painted  ceiling;  and  a  con- 
noisseur was  said  to  have  offered  its  weight  in  gold 
for  the  collection  of  old  Nankin  china. 

Mr.  Kemys  might  have  been  tempted  to  sell  the 
family  treasures  had  he  not  been  firmly  persuaded 
that  every  year  of  waiting  would  increase  their  value 
in  the  market. 

But  of  what  avail  were  such  buried  riches  to  the 
daughters  of  the  old  house,  who  were  forced  to  part 
with  their  personal  ornaments  to  buy  themselves 
clothes ;  or  to  the  son  and  heir,  who  would  be  driven 
to  borrow  money  for  his  own  start  in  life. 

"  Oh  children,  do  as  you  like.  I  haven't  the 
heart  to  scold  you,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  "  even  if  I  had 
the  right  — " 

14  The  right!  Of  course  you  have  the  right,"  said 
Annie,  putting  a  protecting  arm  about  the  slender 
bent  form.  "  Poor  old  Mummie,  if  only  you  knew 
how  to  scold,  which  thank  Heaven,  you  don't." 

"  No,  no.  I  haven't  the  right,"  she  said,  kissing 
softly  yet  passionately,  the  fresh  velvet  cheek  that 
was  pressed  against  her  thin  face.  "  Because  I  — 
I  did  the  same  thing  long  ago  with  my  own  poor  lit- 
tle trinkets,  the  things  I  had  as  a  girl,  which  should 
have  been  yours:  But  they  were  worth  so  little  it 
didn't  much  matter  —  except  that  I  am  afraid  it 
would  have  pained  my  poor  father  to  think  I  could 


GRANDMOTHER  IN  THE  COTTAGE     69 

part  with  them.     I  —  I  —  sold  them  all  when  Rod- 
ric  and  Courtenay  went  to  school,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys. 

Old  Mrs.  Kemys  sat  at  the  open  window  of  her 
cottage,  enjoying  the  pleasant  breath  of  the  spring, 
and  watching  the  movements  of  her  odd  man,  who 
was  working  in  the  little  garden  below.  The  sitting- 
room  was  on  the  first  floor,  plainly  and  even  scantily 
furnished,  contrasting  strangely  with  the  wealth  of 
garniture  in  the  rooms  of  the  Manor  House. 

But  old  Mrs.  Kemys  did  not  care  for  furniture 
except  in  so  far  as  it  administered  to  her  personal 
comfort.  Her  armchair,  if  modern  and  ugly,  was 
luxurious,  and  a  heavy  screen  —  ornamented  by 
scraps  from  illustrated  papers  cut  out  and  pasted  on 
by  her  own  hands  —  protected  her  from  any  possible 
draught.  On  a  low  table  convenient  to  her  hand  lay 
her  knitting,  her  spectacle-case  and  her  Daily  Mail. 

She  was  a  handsome  old  lady,  well-featured  like 
her  son,  and  with  the  same  fiery  dark  blue  eyes  and 
ruddy  complexion,  but  the  abundant  white  hair 
parted  on  her  forehead  softened  the  harshness  of  the 
clear-cut  face. 

She  wore  a  white  cap  tied  beneath  her  chin,  and  a 
small  white  shawl  crossed  over  her  bent  shoulders, 
upon  the  well  worn  black  silk  gown. 

She  was  seventy  years  old  and  the  very  frankness 
of  her  acceptance  of  the  role  of  grandmother  lent  her 
a  dignity  and  a  picturesqueness  which  no  straining 
after  an  appearance  of  youth  or  fashion  could  have 


70  THE  TYRANT 

produced ;  the  restfulness  of  her  attitude  gave  a  sense 
of  repose. 

Here  was  a  woman  conscious  that  she  had  ended 
her  life's  work,  that  she  had  fulfilled  her  duty  by  her 
race  and  her  country  in  her  own  generation.  She 
had  suffered  and  borne  children,  and  brought  them  up 
to  the  best  of  her  ability,  and  worked  for  them 
strenuously  through  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day. 
Now,  in  the  evening  of  life,  she  was  entitled  to  enjoy 
the  little  space  of  leisure  that  might  be  granted  to  her 
before  she  was  called  away  altogether  from  the  scene 
of  her  past  labours. 

And  she  did  enjoy  it,  even  though  she  was  par- 
tially crippled  with  rheumatism ;  her  cheerfulness  was 
unimpaired,  and  the  interest  she  took  in  her  surround- 
ings appeared  rather  to  increase  than  diminish  with 
years. 

She  regarded  her  daughter-in-law  much  as  the  vil- 
lage in  general  regarded  their  squire's  wife,  with  a 
mixture  of  liking  and  pity;  and  the  younger  Mrs. 
Kemys  was  instinctively  aware  of  the  exact  measure 
of  her  mother-in-law's  regard. 

But  she  was  also  aware  that  the  old  lady  was  loyal 
to  her  in  her  own  fashion,  upheld  her  whenever  she 
could,  and  was  more  dependent  upon  her  daily  visits 
for  amusement  than  she  herself  altogether  realised. 

There  was  an  odd  confidence  between  them,  born 

of  mutual  respect  for  a  sincerity  common  to  both. 

31d  Mrs.  Kemys  was  troubled  by  no  illusions  with 

regard  to  her  son,  and  it  was  this  fact  which  further 


GRANDMOTHER  IN  THE  COTTAGE    711 

simplified  her  intercourse  with  her  daughter-in-law. 

"  You're  later  than  usual,"  she  said,  lifting  her 
face  for  the  formal  kiss  of  greeting. 

"  I  waited  to  see  Annie  off  with  her  father.  He 
has  driven  her  in  to  Llysdinam,"  said  Annette. 
"  Sharman  has  taken  her  work  into  the  garden  to 
watch  over  the  little  boys,  and  Sophy  is  busy  in  the 
schoolroom.  She  is  really  very  clever  with  her; 
needle,  poor  child." 

Mrs.  Kemys  sank  into  her  low  chair  with  a  weari- 
ness that  did  not  escape  the  old  lady's  keen  glance. 

"  Anything  wrong?  "  she  said,  sympathetically. 

"  Yes,  dear  Granny,  or  it  seems  so,"  said  Annette, 
despondently.  She  made  a  faint  effort  to  laugh. 
"Perhaps  it  is  Annie  who  is  right:  it  would  have 
been  better  for  them  all  if  I  had  had  the  courage  to 
—  to  stand  up  to  him  —  long  ago,"  she  said. 

"  I  have  always  told  you  so,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys, 
"  though  Annie  had  no  business  to  say  anything  of 
the  kind,  but  children  say  what  they  like  nowadays. 
What  has  happened,  my  dear  ?  " 

Mrs.  Kemys  drew  Rodric's  letter  from  her  pocket 
and  handed  it  across  in  silence ;  and  his  grandmother, 
putting  on  her  glasses  with  hands  that  trembled  a 
little,  read  it  through. 

"  He  has  asked  his  father  for  a  thousand 
pounds  — " 

They  looked  at  each  other  hopelessly. 

"  I  always  knew  the  boy  would  never  be  content 
in  that  office,"  said  old  Mrs.  Kemys,  querulously. 


72  THE  TYRANT 

"  If  you  had  been  firmer  —  if  you  had  insisted  on 
his  being  allowed  his  way  about  the  army — " 

"  I  wish  I  had,"  said  Annette.  It  was  almost  a 
relief  to  both  that  she  should  take  this  pretense  of 
blame  upon  herself.  "  I'm  afraid  he  will  go, 
Granny." 

"  Of  course  he  will  go ;  and  what  is  more  he  is  just 
the  kind  of  boy  who  would  do  well  for  himself,  if 
his  father  would  but  see  it,"  said  old  Mrs.  Kemys. 
"Strong  as  an  ox;  persevering  and  steady,  with  a 
spirit  nothing  can  dash." 

"  That's  just  it  —  I  dread  what  is  bound  to  come, 
—  what  has  been  coming  all  these  years.  He  has 
just  been  waiting  —  that  is  like  my  poor  boy  —  till 
he  came  of  age  —  to  have  it  out  with  his  father. 
And  Richard  will  cut  him  off,  as  he  threatens." 

"  He  would  never  do  that.  He  may  fight  with 
Roddy,  but  he  must  respect  him ;  and  he  would  never 
make  Courtenay  his  heir,  he  looks  down  upon  him  as 
a  bookworm  too  much,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  as  though 
trying  to  re-assure  herself  and  her  daughter-in-law. 

"  Not  Courtenay,  but  little  Corney  —  he  talks  of 
— "  said  Annette,  with  her  wan  smile;  "  the  little  fel- 
low who's  hardly  had  time  yet  to  offend  him  —  who's 
too  young  to  defy  him  or  to  understand." 

"  Rodric  had  better  go,  if  he  must  go,  without  see- 
ing his  father  again,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys  energetically. 

11  How  can  he  go  without  the  money?  "  Annette 
scanned  the  old  lady's  face  wistfully.  She  thought 
that  she  saw  signs  of  agitation  —  of  indecision  in 


GRANDMOTHER  IN  THE  COTTAGE     73 

her  mother-in-law's  expression  —  and  a  trembling 
hope  came  into  her  own. 

"  If  there  were  anything  you  could  do,  dear 
Granny,"  she  faltered.  "  Oh  I  know,  I  know  you 
have  very  little,  and  I  have  never,  never  asked  you  be- 
fore, though  indeed  you  have  been  so  good  to  the 
children  there  has  been  no  need." 

"  Good  to  the  children !  They  are  my  own  flesh 
and  blood,"  said  the  old  lady  sharply:  then  her  voice 
broke.  "  Do  you  think  I  would  wait  to  be  asked?  " 
she  said  querulously.  "  What  is  that  you  are  hold- 
ing out  to  me?  It's  so  small  I  can't  see  it." 

It  was  the  corner  of  Rodric's  letter  that  his 
mother  held  up  mutely.  She  fitted  it  into  the  torn 
page,  and  Rodric's  grandmother  read  it,  and 
trembled  more  than  ever. 

"  The  boy  takes  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  you  see," 
she  said,  holding  her  handsome  old  chin  high. 
"  He  knows  me  better  than  you  do,  Annette,  God 
bless  him." 

Then  she  wrung  her  hands  piteously. 

"  I  can  do  nothing,  Annette,  nothing.  I  handed 
over  my  little  capital  to  Richard  years  ago.  He  per- 
suaded me  that  he  could  do  much  better  with  it  than 
old  Turley;  and  I'll  not  deny  he  gives  me  better 
interest  than  I  got  before.  I  couldn't  lay  my  hand 
on  fifty  pounds,  my  dear,  without  going  to  Richard." 

"  Then  it  is  hopeless,"  said  Annette,  and  her  head 
dropped  on  her  breast. 

"  Of  course  I  could  get  it  back.     I  could  insist 


74  THE  TYRANT 

on  getting  it  back.  Turley  would  see  to  that.  But 
you  know  better  than  I  what  the  result  would  be. 
There  would  be  an  open  rupture.  I  have  never  got 
on  with  Richard,  but  I've  steered  clear  of  that, 
Annette." 

"  It's  not  to  be  thought  of." 

"  I've  thought  of  it  many  a  time,"  said  the  old 
lady,  stoutly.  "  I'd  risk  it  if  there  were  anything 
definite  to  be  gained.  But  to  get  a  thousand  pounds 
that  way,  would  do  the  boy  more  harm  than  good," 
she  faltered.  "  It's  not  that  I  mind  being  pinched 
for  money  my  dear,  but  —  but  none  of  you  would 
ever  be  allowed  to  come  near  me  again,"  she  said 
piteously. 

"  Dear  Granny,  say  no  more  about  it,"  said 
Annette,  wearily.  "  Of  course  it  is  of  no  use  if  it 
cannot  be  done  without  Richard's  knowledge. 
Roddy  must  try  elsewhere."  She  did  not  attempt 
to  disguise  the  resentfulness  of  her  tone  as  she  added : 
"  It  seems  Jack  Meredydd  is  willing  to  lend  it  to 
him." 

"  Jack  Meredydd!  .What  has  he  got  to  do  with 
it?  He  has  no  money,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys  sharply. 

"  His  father  has  transferred  his  mother's  little 
fortune  to  him." 

"  His  mother's  fiddlestick.  Who  was  his  mother? 
The  daughter  of  old  Lord  Yorath's  agent.  She 
hadn't  a  thousand  pounds  in  the  world,  or  if  she  had, 
it  was  the  very  outside." 

"  Old  Meredydd  will  give  him  whatever  he  has  to 


GRANDMOTHER  IN  THE  COTTAGE     75 

give,"  she  spoke  with  unwonted  bitterness.  "  I 
would  rather  be  under  an  obligation  to  almost  anyone 
than  to  Jack  Meredydd." 

She  added  no  explanation,  but  none  was  needed. 
Old  Mrs.  Kemys  knew  and  shared  her  fears  and  am- 
bitions for  Annie. 

"  It  would  give  the  lad  —  a  kind  of  claim,"  she 
said  with  a  groan,  "  and  the  child  has  so  little  to 
distract  her." 

'  To  think  one  has  no  voice  —  no  voice  at  all  — 
in  a  matter  where  one  can  see  so  clearly,"  said 
Annette.  "It  is  not  only  that  he's  no  match  for 
Annie—" 

"  He's  not  in  a  position  to  keep  a  wife  at  all," 
said  the  old  lady,  indignantly. 

"  But,  also  —  that  though  he's  a  good  boy,  he's 
—  ordinary.  He's  no  mate  for  her.  She  could  rise 
to  anything.  She's  so  pretty  and  gracious,  with  the 
right  word  for  everyone,  and  bright  as  sunshine 
always.  Oh  how  badly  they  manage  these  things  in 
England.  If  we  lived  in  France  I  suppose  there 
would  be  nothing  to  prevent  my  going  over  —  to 
Artramont  for  instance,  now  that  the  Yoraths  have 
come  back  to  live  there  at  last  —  and  saying  to  Lady 
Yorath  —  'If  you're  looking  for  a  suitable  wife  for 
your  son,  as  of  course  you  are, —  I'm  looking  for  a 
suitable  husband  for  my  daughter.'  ' 

"  No  doubt  she  would  welcome  the  suggestion," 
said  Mrs.  Kemys  satirically. 

"  She  would  if  she  were  wise.     Annie  has  beauty 


76  THE  TYRANT 

and  health  and  brains,  and  a  heart  in  a  thousand. 
She's  fit  to  be  a  princess,  and  her  family  is  as  old  as 
any  in  the  kingdom.  Very  different  from  the 
Yoraths,  if  it  comes  to  that." 

"  Old  Yorath  was  carrying  a  miner's  pick  over  his 
shoulder  when  Cornelius  Kemys  was  the  biggest  land- 
owner in  the  country,"  said  old  Mrs.  Kemys  with 
satisfaction;  for  the  richer  and  greater  the  Yoraths 
became,  the  more  persistently  and  joyfully  did  their 
neighbours  recall  their  humble  origin.  "  For  my 
part,  there  are  plenty  of  young  men  whom  I  should 
regard  as  more  suitable  than  Lord  Yorath;  in  spite 
of  his  greatness.  I  always  think  badly  of  a  man  in 
his  position  who  has  come  to  thirty  without  finding 
a  wife." 

"  Perhaps  he  has  been  too  particular,"  said  An- 
nette smiling.  "  I've  heard  he  is  very  shy.  I  only 
thought  of  him  because  he  is  the  most  eligible  of  all, 
and  because  I  have  never  heard  anything  against  him, 
and  because  they  say  his  mother  is  so  anxious  to  cure 
him  of  his  wanderings  after  big  game  in  Africa  and 
America,  and  to  get  him  to  settle  down." 

"  It's  time  he  settled  down.  He  is  a  stranger  in 
his  own  county.  Artramont  has  been  let  for  five  and 
twenty  years." 

1  That  was  not  his  fault.  It  was  let  when  he  was 
a  child  because  his  mother  could  not  bear  to  live  there 
after  his  father  died ;  and  they  say  he  was  too  good- 
hearted  to  turn  out  his  tenants  —  the  poor  old  Mil- 
wids  —  who  lived  there  so  long  and  wanted  to  be 


GRANDMOTHER  IN  THE  COTTAGE     77 

allowed  to  die  there.  That  is  one  of  the  things  I 
heard  which  made  me  think  of  Lord  Yorath.  I  wish 
he  could  meet  Annie  however  it  came  about.  She 
would  be  just  the  wife  for  a  man  in  his  position. 
It's  not  only  because  she's  my  child  that  I  think  so. 
I  shouldn't  wish  it  for  Sophy." 

'  You  forget  that  in  France  it  is  a  question  of  dot. 
Where  is  Annie's  fortune  to  come  from?  " 

"  Everything  seems  to  resolve  itself  into  a  ques- 
tion of  pounds,  shillings  and  pence,"  said  Annette, 
bitterly. 

"  I  wonder  if  Mr.  Turley  would  lend  Roddy  the 
money,"  said  old  Mrs.  Kemys,  suddenly.  "  He  and 
his  father  have  been  the  family  solicitors  for  genera- 
tions ;  and  he  was  fond  of  your  own  father,  Annette, 
for  that  matter." 

"  How  can  we  ask  him?  He  is  very  bitter  against 
Richard,  and  no  wonder ;  all  the  business  taken  from 
him  and  given  to  Machon,  a  stranger  in  Llysdinam. 
I  am  ashamed  to  face  him,  though  I  have  never  cut 
him  as  Richard  bade  me.  He  was,  as  you  say,  my 
father's  friend.  But  I  could  not  ask  him  a  favour." 

"I  could  —  for  we  are  cronies,  as  you  know; 
though  I  do  not  say  I  should  care  to  do  it.  Still  — 
he  might  lend  it  out  of  his  very  bitterness  against 
Richard,"  said  the  old  lady,  with  a  chuckle  like  her 
son's. 

"  Roddy  wouldn't  take  it  from  him.  He  would 
prefer  to  borrow  from  Jack  Meredydd,  who  is  his 
own  friend.  And  I  don't  feel  sure  of  Mr.  Turley's 


78  THE  TYRANT 

being  willing  to  do  it.  After  all,  a  man  of  business 
is  not  usually  willing  to  lend  any  one  a  thousand 
pounds  in  a  hurry  —  who  can  offer  no  security,"  said 
Annette,  shaking  her  head. 

"  It  is  true  that  Richard  would  find  it  out  if  he 
did;  and  that  you  would  have  to  bear  the  brunt," 
said  the  old  lady. 

"  Oh !  me!  "  said  Annette,  with  a  gesture  almost 
scornful. 

The  light  from  the  window  fell  upon  her  worn 
delicate,  colourless  face,  and  the  look  she  turned  upon 
her  mother-in-law  was  one  of  pathetic,  reproachful 
wonder;  as  who  should  say:  Is  there  anything  left 
for  me  to  suffer?  Have  I  not  lived  over  twenty  years 
with  this  man  who  is  your  son? 

Richard's  mother  answered  her  look  rather  than 
the  words  she  had  spoken. 

"  I  bore  three  sons,"  she  said  in  broken  tones. 
"  Two  as  good  and  kind  and  gentle  as  men  could  be, 
and  both  were  snatched  from  me  in  their  youth.  One 
died  for  his  country  and  the  other  in  his  bed  of  a 
common  cold  that  no  one  could  have  dreamt  would 
turn  into  an  illness  and  kill  a  strong  man.  And  only 
Richard  was  left.  The  youngest.  That  never  was 
like  the  others;  that  I  never  could  do  anything  with. 
God  knows  I  brought  him  up  no  differently,  except 
so  far  as  his  frowardness  often  made  kindness  im- 
possible. But  I've  always  said  training  has  very  lit- 
tle to  do  with  character.  Pick  up  a  couple  of  new- 


GRANDMOTHER  IN  THE  COTTAGE     79 

born  kittens,  and  one  will  struggle  and  bite  and 
scratch,  and  another  lie  contented  in  your  hand. 
Richard  was  born  with  the  drop  of  bad  blood  in  him, 
though  where  he  got  it  from  is  more  than  mortal  man 
can  tell.  Thank  God,  it's  not  come  out  in  any  of  his 
children  so  far  as  I  can  see." 

"  A  man  must  have  the  defects  of  his  qualities,  I 
suppose,"  said  Annette,  wearily. 

"  What  are  his  qualities?  " 

"  You  are  his  mother  and  do  not  need  to  ask. 
.When  I  married  him  I  saw  his  strength  —  his  cour- 
age —  his  strong  will  —  Look  how  he  went  forth 
from  his  father's  home,  a  boy  almost  —  and  fought 
with  fortune  and  conquered  her  —  unaided." 

"  Did  he  conquer  her?  A  fine  use  he  has  made  of 
his  money,  with  his  children  in  rags  —  the  laughing 
stock  of  the  place.  But  you  would  make  excuses  for 
him  if  he  killed  you  in  one  of  his  rages,  that  grow 
upon  him  till  I  sometimes  fear  for  his  reason." 

"  Richard  is  sane  enough,"  said  his  wife. 

"  No  man  is  sane  who  lets  his  temper  get  the  bet- 
ter of  him.  What  are  you  looking  at?  Why  are 
your  eyes  wandering  so?  " 

"  I  thought  I  heard  voices  in  the  garden,"  said 
Annette  uneasily. 

"  Why  should  there  not  be  voices  in  the  garden?  " 

"  It  is  Pryse.  I  hope  there  is  nothing  wrong," 
said  Annette,  rising. 

"  What  should  be  wrong  except  your  nerves?    Of 


8o  THE  TYRANT 

course  it's  a  caller.  Why  couldn't  Pryse  tell  whoever 
it  is  to  come  on  here  and  be  done  with  it?  "  said  Mrs. 
Kemys,  testily. 

But  old  Pryse,  catching  sight  of  his  lady's  face  at 
the  open  window,  made  her,  without  more  ado,  im- 
perative signs  to  come  down. 

"  Oh  ma'am,  come  home.  You're  wanted  at 
once,"  he  said  in  urgent  tones.  "  There's  been  an  ac- 
cident." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  BOLT  FROM  THE  BLUE 

THE  dog-cart  descended  the  steep  winding  lanes  from 
Llanon  to  the  high  road  in  the  valley,  and  then  sped 
rapidly  along,  beside  the  river,  now  brown  and 
swollen  with  recent  rains. 

The  stone-tiled  roofs  of  the  wayside  cottages 
glistened  in  the  April  sunshine,  among  the  leafless 
trees ;  in  the  orchards  the  earth  was  blue  with  violets, 
as  the  peartrees  were  white  with  blossom.  Yellow 
daffodils  nodded  among  sheaves  of  pointed  green 
spears;  the  springs  were  overflowing;  the  birds  sang 
loudly. 

It  was  the  moment  of  gladness,  of  hope,  of  as- 
surance that  the  yearly  fulfilment  of  promise  was  at 
hand,  and  that  spring  had  but  paused,  tantalizing,  to 
take  breath  before  pouring  forth  gifts  in  abundance 
to  bless  the  waiting  earth.  Annie  sat  beside  her 
father,  pleasantly  occupied  with  thoughts  of  her  com- 
missions, and  cheered  by  the  secret  consciousness  of 
riches.  She  gave  only  half  her  attention  to  the 
parental  monologue  which  Mr.  Kemys  mistook  for 
conversation  with  his  daughter.  But  her  comments 
were  always  dutifully  produced  at  the  right  points  and 
he  neither  expected  nor  desired  more. 

8 1 


82  THE  TYRANT, 

He  was  even  secretly  flattered  at  the  warmth  of 
the  greetings  bestowed  upon  his  pretty  daughter  by 
the  few  foot  passengers  they  encountered  on  their 
way;  which  were  so  unlike  the  sullen  salutes  and  fur- 
tive nods  of  unwilling  recognition  accorded  to  him- 
self by  his  tenants  and  neighbours. 

But  the  lads  and  lasses  among  whom  she  had 
grown  up  all  had  a  smile  or  a  blush  for  Annie;  and 
the  older  folk  returned  her  pretty  smile  with  those 
kindly  glances  of  affection  and  admiration  which 
beauty  can  so  readily  evoke  at  will. 

"  Nonsense  about  the  girl  being  discontented,"  he 
thought  to  himself.  "  She's  as  bright  as  a  button. 
Better  company  than  all  the  rest  of  them  put  to- 
gether." 

He  flicked  at  the  chestnut  mare  triumphantly,  and 
she  responded  with  a  start  and  a  flourish  of  heels 
which  threatened  to  upset  the  dog-cart.  The  satis- 
faction on  her  master's  face  died  out. 

"  Thomas  gives  her  too  much  corn.  I've  told  him 
about  it  before,"  he  said  angrily. 

"  But;  she's  gone  splendidly  so  far,"  said  Annie, 
anxious  to  restore  his  good  spirits.  "  It's  only  play- 
fulness, Papa.  She  hasn't  a  bit  of  vice  in  her,  and 
you  manage  her  better  than  anyone  else.  Generally 
she  jigs  and  dances  about  so  that  poor  Mamma  gets 
quite  nervous." 

"  I've  never  seen  a.  horse  yet  that  I  couldn't 
handle,"  he  said,  setting  his  handsome  lips  grimly. 
"  She  knows  she  has  to  go  my  pace  and  not  her  own. 


THE  BOLT  FROM  THE  BLUE       83 

I  make  her  go  steady  whether  she  likes  it  or  not. 
She'll  be  in  Llysdinam  in  half  an  hour  and  without 
overheating  herself  either." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  when 
an  upset  happened,  and  so  suddenly  that  none  of 
those  concerned  in  it  ever  quite  agreed  upon  the 
exact  details  of  its  occurrence. 

The  hills  sloping  down  to  the  river  side  here  and 
there  jutted  out,  causing  the  road  at  their  base  to 
curve  abruptly;  round  the  sharpest  of  these  blind 
turns  the  mare  came  full  upon  a  motor  car,  buzzing 
merrily  along,  and  hooting  as  it  came.  There  was  no 
collision,  for  the  driver  of  the  car  pulled  up  with  a 
jerk  that  threw  its  occupants  backwards ;  but  the  mare 
reared  and  bolted,  dashing  the  dog-cart  against  a 
tree.  Richard  Kemys  and  his  daughter  were  flung 
heavily  into  the  road. 

The  driver  of  the  car,  who  was  also  its  owner, 
leapt  from  his  place,  and  leaving  his  chauffeur  and  a 
passing  cyclist  to  grapple  with  the  mare,  now  kicking 
wildly  in  a  mad  effort  to  disentangle  herself  from  the 
wreckage  of  dog-cart  and  harness  —  he  ran  to  the 
assistance  of  Annie,  who  lay  motionless  where  she  had 
fallen. 

Mr.  Kemys  had  already  staggered  to  his  feet.  He 
put  his  hand  to  his  head  for  a  moment  and  looked 
round  dizzily.  Then  he  caught  sight  of  the  broken 
dog-cart,  the  struggling  mare,  and  the  prostrate 
figure  of  his  daughter;  his  ungovernable  temper 
burst  forth;  a  torrent  of  abuse  fell  from  his  lips;  he 


84  THE  TYRANT 

consigned  the  motor  car  and  its  possessor  to  perdi- 
tion in  a  fury  akin  to  madness.  For  he  had  been 
badly  frightened,  and  like  many  quick-tempered  per- 
sons, when  he  was  frightened  he  was  angry. 

The  mare,  trembling  violently,  was  soothed  to 
comparative  calm  by  the  united  efforts  of  the  chauf- 
feur and  the  cyclist ;  and  the  latter,  leaving  her  to  the 
other's  care,  joined  the  little  group  by  the  road- 
side. 

The  young  man  who  had  come  to  Annie's  assist- 
ance had  lifted  her  like  a  child,  and  carried  her  to  the 
bank,  where  he  knelt,  supporting  her  head,  from 
which  the  hat  had  fallen,  displaying  her  bright  hair 
and  colourless  face. 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  said  the  cyclist.  "  I'm  a 
doctor.  At  least,  I'm  a  medical  student,  which  is  the 
next  best  thing." 

He  was  a  stalwart  stripling,  though  half  a  head 
shorter  than  the  other  man,  who  was  obviously  his 
senior  by  half  a  dozen  years.  His  sallow  face  was 
good-natured,  but  his  manner  was  rough  and  un- 
polished. 

His  handling  of  the  unconscious  girl,  however  skil- 
ful, was  too  ungentle  to  please  the  owner  of  the 
motor,  who  frowned  and  flushed  and  bit  his  lip  as 
Annie  moaned. 

"  Her  arm  is  broken.  I  can't  be  sure  of  anything 
else.  Probably  concussion.  Look  here,  get  me  a 
stick  and  I'll  put  her  arm  roughly  into  splints.  Then 


THE  BOLT  FROM  THE  BLUE      85 

we'll  lift  her  into  the  car  and  take  her  to  the  nearest 
hospital." 

Richard  Kemys  forbade  either  proceeding  in  a 
voice  of  thunder. 

"  Leave  my  daughter  alone,"  he  shouted.  "  I'll 
not  have  her  touched,  and  I'll  see  you  both  d — d 
before  she  sets  foot  in  that  infernal  machine,  d — 
you." 

At  the  sound  of  those  familiar  furious  tones,  poor 
Annie  stirred  uneasily,  and  half  opened  her  eyes. 

The  motorist  looked  Mr.  Kemys  full  in  the  face. 
He  was  a  clean-shaven  man  of  about  thirty,  hawk- 
nosed,  and  rather  thin-lipped,  with  fine  well-opened 
eyes  of  greenish  hazel  under  arched  black  brows. 
He  put  up  his  hand  with  an  authoritative  gesture. 

"  Stop  that  please,"  he  said  coldly.  "  The  young 
lady  is  coming  to  herself." 

"  What  the  —  is  that  to  you?  "  said  Mr.  Kemys, 
at  once  astounded  and  angry. 

u  It  is  this  to  me,"  said  the  younger  man  haughtily. 
"  I  won't  suffer  such  language  to  be  used  in  the  pres- 
ence of  any  woman,  and  if  she's  really  your  daughter 
you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

The  anger  of  Richard  Kemys  threatened  to  choke 
him.  He  was  unused  to  defiance. 

His  size  and  strength,  no  less  than  his  known  un- 
governable temper,  had  caused  not  only  his  inferiors 
but  those  few  of  his  equals  with  whom  he  held  con- 
verse to  avoid  giving  him  provocation. 


86  THE  TYRANT 

But  the  man  who  faced  him  now  was  obviously 
possessed  of  a  spirit  equal  to  his  own.  Incidentally 
he  was  possessed  besides  of  a  fine  athletic  person,  and 
was  a  score  of  years  younger  than  his  antagonist. 
There  was  also  something  of  the  bull-dog  expression 
on  the  face  of  the  sturdy  cyclist,  whose  small  grey 
eyes  twinkled  gleefully  as  at  the  prospect  of  battle, 
and  who  was  obviously  ranged  on  the  side  of  the  mo- 
torist. 

Mr.  Kemys  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and  their 
unconcealed  contempt  of  his  wrath  lashed  him  to 
fury.  He  fell  back  on  threats. 

"  If  she's  injured  I'll  make  you  pay  for  it.  These 
road  hogs  are  the  curse  of  the  country.  I'll  make 
you  rue  the  day  you  came  round  that  corner  upon  me 
like  that.  I'm  a  magistrate.  Everyone  knows 
Kemys  of  Nantgwilt ;  I  don't  know  who  you  are  and 
I  don't  care,  but  I'll  get  your  name  and  address  out  of 
you." 

"  I'm  Lord  Yorath,"  said  the  motorist;  "  and  it's 
not  the  moment  now  to  discuss  the  cause  of  the  acci- 
dent. Your  daughter's  badly  hurt,  I  fear,  and  I 
don't  think  you're  in  a  fit  state  to  decide  what  ought 
to  be  done  with  her,  so  I  shall  act  on  my  own  re- 
sponsibility, and  take  her  to  the  cottage  hospital  at 
Llysdinam,  where  she  can  be  attended  to  at  once. 
Then  I'll  come  back  and  hear  anything  you  want  to 
say." 

"  I'll  follow  you,  and  bear  witness  that  the  acci- 


THE  BOLT  FROM  THE  BLUE       87 

dent  was  no  more  your  fault  than  it  was  mine,  Lord 
Yorath,"  said  the  cyclist  cheerfully.  "  You  weren't 
going  fast,  and  you  certainly  sounded  your  hooter. 
Let  me  help  you  carry  the  girl  to  your  car." 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  the  motorist, 
rather  shortly.  "  Perhaps  you'll  kindly  see  the  young 
lady's  arm  doesn't  get  hurt  as  I  lift  her." 

Richard  Kemys  made  one  step  forward  and 
stopped  as  though  he  had  been  shot.  A  sudden  dart 
of  agonizing  pain  bereft  him  of  all  power  of  move- 
ment. His  face  became  livid,  his  limbs  rigid;  his 
brow  wet  with  anguish. 

He  did  not  exactly  lose  consciousness,  but  he  was 
conscious  of  nothing  save  the  intensity  of  his  suffer- 
ing. A  dreadful  sensation  of  impending  suffocation 
beset  him. 

"  You're  better  now,"  someone  said,  in  not  un- 
kindly tones. 

He  was  sitting  by  the  roadside,  and  the  young  cy- 
clist was  supporting  him,  and  administering  brandy 
to  him  from  a  pocket  flask. 

The  mare,  tethered  to  an  adjacent  post,  was  crop- 
ping the  grass  as  quietly  as  though  nothing  had  hap- 
pened. 

The  cyclist,  holding  the  wrist  of  Richard  Kemys 
between  his  thumb  and  two  fingers,  looked  into  his 
face  attentively. 

"  I  expect  you've  felt  something  like  this  before, 
haven't  you?"  he  said.  There  was  no  respect  for 


88  THE  TYRANT 

Kemys  of  Nantgwilt  in  his  tone,  but  a  decided  rough 
compassion,  which  was  recognised  by  the  older  man 
rather  uneasily. 

"  I've  never  felt  anything  the  least  like  it  before," 
he  said,  almost  angrily,  though  he  was  still  too  much 
under  the  influence  of  the  terrible  sensation  he  had 
experienced  to  reply  with  his  usual  vigour. 

"  Well,  look  here  then  —  I  think  it  would  be  only 
kindness  to  tell  you  what's  the  matter  with  you,"  said 
the  cyclist  in  the  same  easy  and  familiar,  but  not  un- 
sympathetic manner:  not  the  manner  of  the  visiting 
physician  to  his  patients,  but  of  the  kindly  house  sur- 
geon to  the  hospital  inmates.  "  You've  got  a  beast 
of  a  temper,  haven't  you  —  and  it's  as  well  you 
should  know  that  every  time  you  give  way  to  it, 
you're  just  knocking  another  nail  into  your  coffin, — 
to  put  it  bluntly.  Look  here,  you  felt  something  like 
this,  didn't  you?" 

He  described  Mr.  Kemys's  recent  sensations  with  a 
terse  accuracy  that  silenced  retort. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  the  cyclist,  as  the  elder  man, 
with  white  lips,  nodded  assent. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  asked,  hoarsely. 

"  Angina  pectoris." 

Richard  Kemys  stared  with  unseeing  eyes  at  his 
grazing  mare,  and  at  the  distant  blue  hills  against 
which  her  familiar  form  was  silhoutted.  The  blunt 
words  of  the  shrewd  ordinary-looking  young  man  be- 
side him  carried  a  horrible  conviction  in  their  very 
absence  of  any  attempt  to  soften  the  truth. 


THE  BOLT  FROM  THE  BLUE      89 

The  medical  student  had  the  calm  courage  of  his 
convictions  which  is  so  characteristic  of  youth. 

"How  long — ?"  said  Mr.  Kemys.  His  own 
voice  sounded  strange  to  him,  but  it  was  quite  steady. 

"  Impossible  to  say.  I  should  think  it  depended 
partly  on  yourself.  I  can  tell  you  anyway  that  as 
long  as  you  live  you  must  be  absolutely  quiet  in  mind 
and  body  as  far  as  possible.  You  must  never  allow 
yourself  to  indulge  in  any  emotion  you  can  possibly 
help,  least  of  all  anger.  But  of  course  you'll  take  the 
best  advice.  You  mustn't  hang  upon  my  words  like 
that.  I'm  not  qualified  to  give  my  opinion  at  all, 
you  know."  He  looked  almost  amused  in  the  midst 
of  his  sympathy.  "  I  can  give  you  the  names  of  the 
best  heart  specialists  in  London,  if  you  like;  though, 
mind  you,  it  doesn't  follow  you've  got  disease  of  the 
heart  —  there  may  be  nothing  —  or  they  may  find 
no  signs.  It's  not  always  to  be  diagnosed  by  exam- 
ination —  but  when  I  saw  you  just  now  —  why  — " 
his  pause  was  eloquent. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  doctors,"  said  Richard  Kemys 
sternly. 

The  cyclist  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  What  are  the  remedies?  "  said  Mr.  Kemys. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  prescribe  for  you.  I'm  only  in 
my  second  year,"  said  the  student,  looking  amused 
once  more.  "  There  are  certain  drugs  which  are  al- 
ways used  in  these  cases.  You'll  find  them  in  any 
book  of  household  medicine  if  you're  bent  on  taking 
the  doctors'  daily  bread  out  of  their  mouths.  You 


9o  THE  TYRANT 

ought  to  carry  one  of  the  remedies  always  in  your 
pocket." 

"Do  you  mean  —  I  shall  have  it  again?"  said 
Mr.  Kemys. 

The  cyclist  did  not  answer  in  words,  but  he  nod- 
ded; and  looked  as  he  felt,  rather  sorry  for  his  ques- 
tioner. 

The  next  words  Mr.  Kemys  uttered  surprised  him. 

"  You've  earned  your  fee,  and  I'll  give  it  to  you 
on  one  condition." 

"  I  told  you  I  wasn't  qualified  to  give  medical  ad- 
vice," said  the  cyclist,  flushing.  "  I  recognised 
your  attack  —  and  in  common  humanity  warned  you 
what  it  was  because,  frankly,  you'd  just  given  me 
proof  that  you're  in  the  habit  of  flying  into  violent 
passions,  which  is  about  the  worst  thing  you  can  do. 
I'm  not  going  to  take  a  fee  for  that,  as  you  may  sup- 
pose. But  I  do  tell  you  that  if  you're  not  a  fool, 
you'll  go  and  get  the  best  advice  in  your  power  with- 
out delay." 

"  You've  told  me  what  the  matter  is,"  said  Mr. 
Kemys,  ignoring  this,  "  and  all  I  want  you  to  do  now 
is  to  promise  to  tell  nobody  else." 

"Whom  should  I  tell?" 

'  That  conceited  jackanapes  whose  car  caused  this 
-  this  accident,"  said  Mr.  Kemys,  gulping  down  a 
fresh  access  of  wrath.     "  Didn't  he  say  he  was  com- 
ing back?  " 

"  He  did,  but  I  haven't  the  slightest  desire  to  tell 
him,  and  I  don't  suppose  it  would  interest  him  if  I 


THE  BOLT  FROM  THE  BLUE       91 

did,"  said  the  student  brusquely.  "  It's  no  business 
of  mine,  nor  of  his.  I'm  not  likely  to  see  him 
again." 

"Do  you  belong  to  these  parts?"  asked  Mr. 
Kemys  suspiciously. 

"  No,  I  don't.  I'm  down  here,  if  you  must  know, 
cycling  around  trying  to  get  fit.  I  had  a  bad  break- 
down and  have  been  ordered  to  give  up  work  for 
six  months,  and  live  out  of  doors.  Don't  look  like 
it,  do  I  ?  But  neither  do  you  look  like  a  man  who's 
got  anything  the  matter  with  him." 

"You'll  hold  your  tongue?"  said  Richard 
Kemys,  ignoring  as  usual  everything  irrelative  to  his 
own  interests. 

"  Of  course  I'll  hold  my  tongue.  Look  here,  are 
you  going  to  let  Lord  Yorath  take  you  to  the  hospital 
and  see  how  your  girl's  getting  on?  You  don't  seem 
to  concern  yourself  much  about  her.  Don't  get 
angry,  but  make  up  your  mind  what  you're  going  to 
do  quietly,  and  do  it." 

"  If  I'm  not  to  get  angry,"  said  Richard,  with 
lowering  brow,  "  that  fellow  and  his  damned  tin  ket- 
tle had  better  keep  out  of  my  way.  I'll  not  go  to 
the  hospital.  What  good  should  I  do  there?  I 
shall  get  on  to  the  mare  and  ride  home,  and  send  a 
carriage  for  my  daughter.  Her  mother  will  go  and 
bring  her  back." 

"  Well,  that  will  be  the  best  plan,  if  she's  fit  to  be 
moved,  and  if  not  —  why  —  her  mother  ought  to 
be  there,"  said  the  cyclist,  soothingly. 


92  THE  TYRANT 

He  assisted  Mr.  Kemys  to  rise  and  held  the  mare 
while  he  mounted ;  then  watched  him  ride  away  with 
mixed  feelings  of  amusement,  resentment  and  pity. 

"  The  brute  —  never  even  thanked  me,  nor  so 
much  as  asked  my  name.  I  needn't  have  worried 
about-  that  fee!  Well,  I  suppose  he  was  feeling 
pretty  rotten.  Just  about  the  best  thing  he  could 
do,  to  avoid  another  meeting  with  the  motor  chap. 
There'd  have  been  ructions.  His  lordship  looked  as 
if  he  was  a  bit  used  to  having  his  own  way  too. 
Kemys  of  Nantgwilt !  Heartless  old  beggar ;  sneak- 
ing off  to  save  his  own  skin  without  waiting  to  hear 
if  his  daughter's  dead  or  alive." 

His  indignation  had  time  to  cool  before  Lord  Yo- 
rath  returned  in  the  motor. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  said,  "  to  have  been  so  long 
away,  but  it  all  took  time  —  why  —  you  are  alone !  " 

The  cyclist  explained. 

"  The  old  man  turned  queer  for  a  moment.  I 
advised  him  to  keep  his  temper  in  future." 

"  I  hope  he  wasn't  hurt." 

"  Not  he.  I  daresay  he  had  a  bit  of  a  shake  up. 
A  man  falls  pretty  heavy  at  that  age,  and  with  that 
figure.  He's  gone  home  on  horseback  to  send  his 
wife  and  a  carriage  for  the  girl." 

His  easy  familiarity  froze  Lord  Yorath's  friend- 
liness into  civility. 

"  I  am  quite  sure  the  surgeon  will  not  permit  the 
young  lady  to  be  moved,"  he  said,  stiffly. 


THE  BOLT  FROM  THE  BLUE       93 

"So  am  I.  But  I  did  not  tell  the  old  boy  that. 
He  can  send  his  wife  and  the  carriage  to  his  heart's 
content.  I  hope  her  mother  will  show  a  little  more 
affection  for  her  than  her  father  does." 

"  They  are  neighbours  of  mine,"  said  Lord  Yo- 
rath;  "  and  as  I'm  more  or  less  responsible  for  the 
accident  I  must  do  what  I  can  to  help.  Are  you 
quite  sure  it  wasn't  because  he  was  hurt,  that  he  went 
home?" 

"  He  walked  quite  sound.  Don't  you  worry 
about  him.  I  gave  him  a  drop  of  brandy  out  of  my 
flask." 

"  You  have  been  exceedingly  kind.  Can  I  do  any- 
thing for  you?  Will  you  let  the  car  take  you  any- 
where? "  said  Lord  Yorath,  hesitating.  "  You  have 
been  delayed  a  long  while  over  this  affair." 

"  Oh,  Lord,  I  don't  care ;  I'm  only  touring,  taking 
a  bit  of  a  holiday.  Been  ill,  overworking,"  said  the 
student,  with  a  laugh.  "  I'll  leave  you  my  address 
in  case  you  want  my  evidence  at  any  time,  if  he's  fool 
enough  to  bring  an  action,  that  is.  Or  if  anything 
happened  to  the  girl,  which  isn't  likely,  I  hope.  My 
name's  Bewan,  Robert  Bewan." 

He  took  a  card  from  his  pocket-book  and  handed 
it  to  Lord  Yorath,  who  received  it,  repeating  his 
thanks  as  cordially  as  he  could. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  drop  me  a  line,  and  let  me  know 
if  she's  all  right.  I  don't  want  to  go  back  to  Lysdi- 
nam,  which  is  a  dead-alive  hole.  I  stopped  there  last 


94  THE  TYRANT 

night.  But  I  should  like  to  hear  I  was  right,  and 
that  there's  nothing  the  matter  with  the  girl  but  a 
broken  arm." 

Lord  Yorath  promised  to  write,  and  shook  hands, 
and  in  his  turn,  watched  the  medical  student  depart- 
ing along  the  highroad  on  his  bicycle. 

Then  he  entered  the  car,  and  drove  back  to  the 
hospital. 

Richard  Kemys  rode  slowly  home  to  Nantgwilt, 
deliberately  forcing  himself  to  restrain  the  mare's 
paces,  and  to  stifle  his  own  impatience,  emotion  and 
anxiety. 

He  would  not  dwell  upon  the  thought  of  the  ac- 
cident, of  his  ruined  dog-cart,  nor  upon  the  amount 
of  hurt  that  Annie  had  sustained.  Suppose  she  had 
broken  her  arm  —  she  was  young,  strong  and  healthy 
—  and  would  make  a  quick  recovery.  She  had  a 
long  life  before  her,  while  he  — 

His  mind  recoiled,  fixing  itself  dully  upon  the  vital 
necessity  for  maintaining  his  own  composure.  His 
iron  will  bent  itself  to  that  purpose. 

He  must  keep  calm.  Calm  and  composed.  He 
must  not  let  his  feelings  get  the  better  of  him.  He 
must  never  let  emotion  nor  excitement  of  any  kind 
get  the  better  of  him  again. 

His  life  was  dear  to  him,  and  he  would  cling  to 
it  fiercely  while  any  shred  of  hope  remained.  It  de- 
pended largely  on  himself.  He  resolved  to  get 


THE  BOLT  FROM  THE  BLUE      95 

down  one  of  those  dusty  medical  encyclopaedias  that 
stood  on  the  top  shelves  of  the  old  library,  behind 
locked  doors,  and  read  up  all  he  could  find  on  the  sub- 
ject of  angina  pectoris. 

But  such  volumes  must  be  out  of  date;  he  would 
send  to  London  for  more  modern  books  on  diseases 
of  the  heart.  Perhaps  after  all  he  would  go  up  to 
London  and  consult  —  hush,  he  was  growing  agi- 
tated at  the  thought;  he  must  be  calm.  And  yet  it 
was  very  hard.  A  rush  of  self-pity  almost  overcame 
him.  His  life  was  very  dear  to  him,  and  that  life 
was  threatened.  He  was  stunned,  incredulous,  mis- 
erable. 

He  was  in  the  prime  of  life;  almost  a  young  man 
still  in  his  own  estimation,  though  his  sons  would 
have  been  amazed  that  he  could  think  so;  and  he 
was  strong  and  vigorous  of  mind  and  body;  at  the 
very  zenith  of  all  his  powers. 

He  knew  that  it  was  not  an  unknown  nor  even  a 
rare  thing  for  strong  and  vigorous  men  in  the  prime 
of  life  to  develop  heart  disease,  and  he  felt  that  in 
any  one's  case  but  his  own  he  would  not  have  been 
surprised;  but  the  absurdity  of  this  thought  did  not 
strike  him. 

It  was  true  that  his  two  brothers  had  died  at  a 
much  earlier  age,  but  they  had  never  possessed  his 
fine  physique.  The  recollection  of  their  fate  even 
afforded  him  a  momentary  gleam  of  comfort.  For 
he  told  himself  that  it  was  improbable  that  a  just 


96  THE  TYRANT 

God  could  permit  his  mother,  a  good  woman  —  a 
religious  woman  —  to  suffer  a  third  such  grievous 
blow  —  to  outlive  all  her  sons. 

But  the  consolation  was  transient,  for  through  the 
thick  casing  of  his  egotism  pierced  a  sudden  stinging 
doubt  whether  his  loss  would,  after  all,  cause  such 
affliction  to  his  mother. 

He  recalled  her  sorrow  (which  he  had  thought 
excessive)  when  his  brothers  died,  and  tried  to  im- 
agine her  reception  of  the  news  of  his  own  sudden  de- 
parture out  of  this  world.  But  his  dulled  imagina- 
tion, hitherto  exercised  generally  in  the  direction  of 
money  making,  refused  to  depict  her  in  any  but  her 
most  prosaic  aspect;  and  he  could  only  hear  her  re- 
marking in  her  driest  tone  that  no  doubt  Providence 
arranged  everything  for  the  best. 

He  told  himself  that  he  cared  nothing  what  any- 
one said  or  did  after  he  was  gone ;  but  there  remained 
a  sore  feeling  of  resentment  and  bitterness  at  the  sus- 
picion that  his  going  might  after  all  be  more  of  a  re- 
lief than  a  sorrow  to  his  family. 

With  a  start  he  recollected  that  if  he  had  died  in 
that  confounded  attack  young  Rodric  would  have 
found  himself  suddenly  independent  of  everything 
and  everybody;  able  to  join  in  any  scheme  he  fan- 
cied; master  not  merely  of  one,  but  of  —  how  many? 
thousands  of  pounds. 

Richard  Kemys  determined  to  lose  not  a  moment 
in  giving  his  lawyer  instructions  for  the  making  of  a 
new  will. 


THE  BOLT  FROM  THE  BLUE      97 

Young  Rodric  must  be  kept  in  his  place.  Every- 
thing should  be  tied  up.  If  he  must  leave  his  money 
behind  him  there  was  at  least  a  dismal  satisfaction 
in  the  thought  that  he  could  so  arrange  matters  that 
for  a  number  of  years  it  would  be  of  little  use  to  any- 
body. It  would  be  in  the  hands  of  trustees.  A  list 
of  names  passed  through  the  mind  of  Richard 
Kemys. 

He  who  had  trusted  no  man  with  his  affairs  must 
now  perforce  trust  someone.  He  could  have  wept 
tears  of  mingled  rage  and  pity  when  he  thought  of 
the  energy  and  trouble  he  had  expended  over  the 
making  of  his  money.  To  what  end  he  had  seldom 
if  ever  troubled  to  ask  himself,  but  certainly  not  to 
this  end.  He  had  vaguely  intended  to  add  to  his  es- 
tate; to  become  eventually  a  power  in  his  native 
county.  In  his  youth  he  had  thought  of  this,  and  of 
much  more.  But  youth  sees  only  that  time  and  space 
are  boundless,  and  shapes  its  dreams  and  hopes  ac- 
cordingly. 

Middle-age  perceives  more  clearly  what  an  infin- 
itesimal portion  of  both  Fate  has  pegged  out  for  the 
individual.  Richard  suddenly  relinquished  his  am- 
bitions, and  realised  that  he  asked  no  more  than  to 
be  allowed  to  go  on  as  he  was,  until  —  until  when? 
For  another  twenty  years,  at  least.  But  to  be  taken 
away  from  the  contemplation  of  the  figures  in  his 
bank  book  before  he  even  needed  to  use  glasses  in 
order  to  decipher  them!  It  was  monstrous  and 
cruel,  altogether  too  bad  to  be  true. 


98  THE  TYRANT 

He  became  alarmed  at  his  own  growing  agitation 
of  mind,  and  in  the  effort  to  regain  his  calm,  forced 
his  attention  away  from  subjects  too  engrossing,  and 
turned  it  towards  his  immediate  outward  surround- 
ings. 

His  mood  softened.  He  looked  round  with  an- 
guished eyes  at  the  familiar  landscape  —  at  the  blue 
April  sky  —  the  dancing  sunlight  on  the  brown  river 
—  the  feathery  birches  swaying  on  the  wild  hillside 
above  him.  These  things  were  dear  to  him  too  after 
his  fashion.  It  could  not  be  that  he  was  to  be  shut 
away  in  the  darkness,  and  know  them  all  no  more. 


He  dismounted  in  the  stableyard,  and  in  subdued 
tones,  which  terrified  the  groom  and  stableman,  who 
ran  out  to  meet  him,  gave  a  brief  account  of  the  ac- 
cident. He  bade  them  send  to  the  spot  where  it  took 
place,  and  collect  the  remains  of  the  wrecked  dog- 
cart; and  meanwhile  to  prepare  the  landau  at  once, 
which  was  to  bring  his  daughter  home  from  Lysdi- 
nam. 

Then  he  went  into  the  house  and  called  his  wife. 
He  learnt  that  she  was  at  the  cottage  with  his  mother 
and  sent  old  Pryse  in  search  of  her. 

Annette  was  with  him  almost  immediately.  She 
found  him  lying  on  the  sofa  in  the  study. 

"Richard,  oh,  Richard!  Are  you  hurt?"  she 
said  and  knelt  beside  him,  trembling. 


THE  BOLT  FROM  THE  BLUE      99 

In  the  midst  of  his  trouble  he  felt  a  certain  dull 
sense  of  comfort  in  her  presence,  and  in  the  anxiety 
of  her  looks ;  but  he  was  so  unaccustomed  to  the  sen- 
sation that  he  was  hardly  aware  of  it,  even  though  it 
helped  to  restore  his  shaken  self-confidence. 

"  Don't  waste  time,"  he  said  with  his  usual  gruff- 
ness.  "  I'm  not  hurt,  though  I  was  thrown  into  the 
road  and  of  course  I'm  a  bit  shaken;  bruised  all 
over,  I  daresay.  It's  Annie." 

"  Annie !  "  said  the  poor  mother. 

"  Go  and  get  ready  and  drive  down  to  Lysdinam 
and  bring  her  home,"  said  Mr.  Kemys,  gruffly. 
"  I've  ordered  the  carriage.  That  d — d  officious 
fool  took  her  to  the  cottage  hospital." 

"The  hospital?  What  officious  fool?  Oh, 
Richard,  is  she  seriously  hurt?  For  pity's  sake  tell 
me  everything." 

"  How  can  I  tell  you  what  I  don't  know?  I  tell 
you  I  was  thrown  into  the  road,  and  before  I  had 
time  to  recover  my  senses,  that  meddling  idiot,  Lord 
Yorath,  whose  infernal  car  upset  the  mare,  had  the 
impudence  to  carry  her  off.  They  said  her  arm  was 
broken." 

Mrs.  Kemys  uttered  a  faint  cry. 

"  Don't  be  silly,"  he  said,  not  unkindly,  but  in  a 
strange  subdued  manner  so  unlike  himself  that  it  al- 
most alarmed  her.  "  I've  safd  you  can  go  to  her, 
haven't  I  ?  They'll  have  set  it  by  this  time,  and  the 
sooner  she's  brought  back  the  better.  It  can't  hurt 


ioo  THE  TYRANT 

her  to  come  in  the  landau.  You'd  better  take  rugs 
and  cushions  and  things,  and  go  at  once  and  leave  me 
to  rest." 

But  Mrs.  Kemys  lingered,  kneeling  by  his  side. 

"  Richard,  are  you  sure  —  are  you  sure  —  you  are 
not  more  hurt  than  you  know  ?  "  she  faltered.  "  You 
look  —  you  speak  —  there  is  some  change  in  you. 
Forgive  me,"  as  his  fierce  blue  eyes  flashed  impa- 
tience. "  You  are  so  big  and  heavy  to  be  thrown  out 
into  the  road.  Are  you  sure  there  is  no  internal  in- 
jury? Won't  you  let  Dr.  Harries  come?" 

11  When  have  I  ever  sent  for  a  doctor?  "  he  thun- 
dered, betrayed  by  her  importunity  into  his  usual  fiery 
manner,  almost  to  her  relief. 

Then  he  recollected  himself. 

"  I've  told  you  I  want  to  rest,"  he  said,  and  turned 
away  from  her,  closing  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR 

MRS.  KEMYS  drove  from  Nantgwilt  to  the  hospital 
outside  Llysdinam  with  her  mind  in  a  tumult  of  anx- 
iety, misery,  and  self-reproach. 

She  felt  as  though  —  like  the  wishes  granted  by 
malignant  elves  to  hapless  mortals  in  fairy-tales — » 
her  wish  that  her  daughter  might  meet  Lord  YoratK 
had  recoiled  upon  her  own  head  in  its  fulfilment. 

The  drive  seemed  terribly  long.  The  coachman, 
with  officious  zeal,  pointed  out  to  her  the  scene  of 
the  accident,  which  they  were  obliged  to  pass;  she 
shuddered  at  the  debris  of  the  dog-cart  by  the  way- 
side, and  by  the  time  the  shabby  landau  and  the  old 
panting  horses  at  length  drew  up  before  the  newly 
built  cottage  hospital,  she  was  almost  faint  with  sus- 
pense. 

She  was  vaguely  aware  of  a  large  automobile 
standing  by  the  kerb,  and  that  she  was  saluted  re- 
spectfully by  a  smart  chauffeur;  and  she  recalled 
afterwards  the  dark  handsome  face  of  the  tall  man 
who  came  forward  to  receive  her,  and  whom  she 
knew  must  be  Lord  Yorath,  though  she  was  too 
confused  to  pay  attention  to  his  gentle  words  of 
greeting. 

lOIi 


102  THE  TYRANT 

She  was  grateful  to  the  white-capped,  blue-gowned 
matron,  who,  divining  her  condition,  detained  her 
scarcely  a  moment  in  the  parlour  of  waiting,  but  hur- 
ried her  along  the  narrow  passage  into  the  little 
room  which  was  reserved  for  special  cases.  She  gave 
her  soothing  report  on  the  way. 
..  "All  quite  right,  and  nothing  whatever  to  alarm 
you.  A  simple  fracture  just  below  the  elbow.  The 
surgeon  was  luckily  here  and  able  to  set  it  at  once. 
She's  been  so  plucky  about  it  all.  But  she's  suffer- 
ing a  little  from  shock,  and  perhaps  slight  concus- 
sion —  her  head  got  a  nasty  knock  —  so  I  needn't 
tell  you  how  quiet  she  must  be  kept.  You  won't  let 
her  talk,  will  you  ?  " 

The  shaded  room  was  exquisitely  clean,  if  almost 
bare,  save  for  the  white  bed.  Annie  lay  there,  her 
blue  eyes  turned  expectant  towards  the  screen  which 
sheltered  the  door,  and  her  bright  hair  making  sun- 
shine on  the  pillow. 

The  nurse  beside  her  rose  in  obedience  to  the  ma- 
tron's signal,  and  withdrew. 

Mrs.  Kemys  bent  over  her  daughter  pitifully, 
pressing  the  slender  hand  against  her  own  colourless 
cheek. 

"  Oh,  my  darling.  Thank  God  it  was  no  worse. 
Don't  speak,  or  only  just  to  tell  me  if  you're  in  pain, 
or  if  I  can  do  anything." 

"  I  promised  Nurse  I  wouldn't  talk,"  said  Annie, 
smiling  faintly.  "  But  it's  really  not  very  bad,  Mum- 


THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR  103 

mie,  and  I  want  to  know  two  or  three  things.     Is 
Papa  hurt?" 

"No,  no.     At  least,   a  little  shaken.     Nothing 


more." 


"  I'm  so  glad  it  was  only  me.  Then  —  Mamma 
—  who  was  it  —  who  brought  me  here?"  said 
Annie  with  varying  colour. 

"  Lord  Yorath.  I  know  nothing  of  what  hap- 
pened except  that  somehow  his  motor  caused  the 
accident.  Don't  speak  or  think  of  it,  my  darling." 

"  I  can't  remember  anything,"  Annie  said,  knit- 
ting her  fair  brows,  "  except  that  a  motor  came 
round  the  corner.  The  next  thing  —  a  man  was  car- 
rying me  in  here.  I  saw  him  afterwards  In  the  door- 
way over  there,  helping  them  to  put  up  a  screen.  I 
don't  remember  anything  more.  It  was  just  a  sort 
of  mist  with  the  face  in  the  doorway  looking  through 
it.  They  gave  me  chloroform  or  something,  I  am 
sure.  I  found  my  arm  all  done  up  like  this.  Are 
you  sure  it  was  Lord  Yorath?  Is  he  a  very  big  man, 
very  gentle,  with  a  rather  hooked  nose  and  fine  hazel 
eyes  and  clean-shaven?  " 

"  I  did  not  notice  his  eyes,  but  he  is  tall,  and  clean- 
shaven. Of  course  it  was  him.  You're  getting  ex- 
cited, darling,  there  are  big  spots  of  colour  burning 
on  your  cheeks.  Don't  speak  any  more,  or  only  just 
whisper  any  question." 

The  next  question  was  whispered. 

"  Is  Papa  angry?  " 


104  THE  TYRANT 

"  Hardly  at  all."  Mrs.  Kemys  betrayed  her  won- 
der quite  unconsciously.  "  He  scarcely  said  any- 
thing; he  did  not  even  worry  about  the  dogcart  being 
smashed.  I  think  he  was  too  anxious  about  you,  I 
do  indeed.  He  sent  me  at  once  with  the  carriage  to 
bring  you  home." 

"  Oh,  Mamma,  you  won't  do  that?  "  Annie  said. 
She  raised  herself  in  bed,  and  her  eyes  grew  large 
with  dismay.  "  Oh,  don't.  It's  so  peaceful  here. 
Surely  you  won't  take  me  away?  " 

"  My  darling,  don't  excite  yourself,"  said  poor 
Mrs.  Kemys  in  despair.  "  I  am  sure  you  ought  not 
to  be  moved.  You  shall  do  as  you  like." 

"  And  you  go  home  and  bear  the  brunt,  poor 
Mamma.  No,  I  won't  do  that,"  said  Annie,  but 
the  bright  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  I  don't  think  I 
could  stand  this  pain  if  I'm  to  be  moved  out  of  this 
quiet  place  and  taken  back  home.  All  the  noise,  and 
Papa  shouting,  and  the  little  boys  wanting  Sharman 
every  minute  —  not  that  Sharman  could  nurse  me 
like  these  — "  she  said,  half  sobbing  and  half  petu- 
lant. "  These  nurses  have  made  me  so  comfortable 
now  —  all  but  the  pain." 

Mrs.  Kemys  had  scarce  time  to  reproach  herself 
for  mentioning  her  mission  to  Annie  at  all,  before  the 
nurse  was  back  at  her  post,  with  a  face  that  betrayed 
her  opinion  of  the  strange  propensity  displayed  by 
visiting  relatives  for  upsetting  patients  just  when 
they  were  doing  well. 

But  her  amusement  at  the  notion  of  Annie's  re- 


THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR  105 

moval  from  the  hospital  almost  restored  the  com- 
posure of  both  mother  and  daughter. 

The  doctor  would  never  hear  of  such  a  thing! 
He  would  write  a  letter  of  explanation  to  Mr.  Kemys 
if  that  were  all.  Why  they  weren't  out  of  the  wood 
yet.  Had  Mrs.  Kemys  seen  the  bump  on  her  daugh- 
ter's head?  The  doctor  wanted  to  cut  her  hair  off, 
but  the  matron  said  she  could  manage  without  that. 
It  would  have  been  a  shame.  Such  beautiful  hair. 
And  so  on.  The  soft  cheerful  babble,  and  air  of 
complete  responsibility  and  authority  restored  An- 
nie's confidence,  and  brought  a  faint  smile  to  her  lips 
once  more. 

Mrs.  Kemys  understood  that  the  best  thing  she 
could  do  was  to  leave  her  child  in  these  kind  and 
capable  hands;  and  she  could  not  help  feeling  that 
Annie  shared  this  opinion,  though  she  clung  to  her 
at  parting  and  whispered  sympathetic  and  anxious 
counsels  concerning  the  probability  of  her  father's 
displeasure. 

"  I  don't  think  he  will  mind,"  she  said,  trying  to 
reassure  herself  as  well  as  her  child.  u  As  nurse 
says,  I  can  take  him  a  letter  from  the  doctor.  That 
will  be  the  best  way;  of  course  you  could  not  be 
moved  against  his  orders." 

"  And  you  can  tell  her  father  she  can  have  any- 
thing she  asks  for.  We  can  get  her  everything  in 
reason,"  said  the  nurse,  misapprehending  the  situa- 
tion entirely,  as  was  natural;  "  then  I  daresay  he'll  be 
reconciled,  especially  when  he  knows  how  important 


106  THE  TYRANT 

it  is  that  she  should  be  kept  quiet.  No,  not  another 
word,  please.  It's  all  against  orders,  and  you  don't 
want  to  do  her  harm,  do  you  ?  " 

Annie's  anxious  smile  and  last  look  at  her  mother 
remained  in  the  memory  of  poor  Mrs.  Kemys  and 
made  her  heart  ache  with  love  and  longing  as  she 
hurried  away,  divining  though  she  could  not  observe, 
the  relief  her  departure  would  cause  her  child,  who 
asked  only  to  be  left  in  peace,  to  suffer  what  pain  she 
had  to  suffer  as  best  she  might  in  an  atmosphere  so 
much  more  restful  than  that  of  her  home. 

The  matron,  taking  her  back  to  the  little  parlour 
which  was  her  sitting-room,  gave  her  all  the  particu- 
lars she  asked  for,  and  told  her  that  Lord  Yorath 
had  behaved  in  the  kindest  and  most  considerate  man- 
ner. The  chauffeur  had  explained  how  it  happened. 
It  was  nobody's  fault.  There  was  another  gentle- 
man who  had  been  bicycling  and  was  anxious  to  bear 
witness  to  this  effect.  Of  course  Mrs.  Kemys  knew 
how  much  interest  Lady  Yorath  took  in  the  hospital 
since  her  return  to  Artramont  with  her  son.  What  a 
good  thing  for  the  county  that  they  should  have  re- 
turned at  last,  though  the  old  tenants  had  been  so 
good  in  their  way,  etc.  Lady  Yorath  was  a  charm- 
ing person,  and  wrapt  up  in  her  son.  She  came  so 
often  to  visit  them  all.  The  matron  pressed  Mrs. 
Kemys  to  have  a  cup  of  tea  while  she  telephoned  to 
see  if  the  doctor  were  at  his  house  in  Llysdinam,  and 
Mrs.  Kemys  could  not  refuse,  though  she  would  have 
preferred  to  drive  to  the  doctor's  house. 


THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR  107 

They  entered  the  parlour  and  found  Lord  Yorath 
waiting  there  still.  The  matron  hurried  away  to 
order  the  tea. 

Lord  Yorath  did  not  say  that  the  accident  was 
nobody's  fault.  On  the  contrary,  he  assured  Mrs. 
Kemys  very  earnestly  that  he  blamed  himself  bitterly 
for  turning  the  corner  too  quickly. 

"  I  might  have  reflected  that  it  would  startle  any 
spirited  horse  —  especially  where  there  is  so  little 
traffic,"  he  said.  "  There  was  plenty  of  room,  and 
of  course  the  hooter  was  sounding,  but  I  ought  to 
have  slowed  down  even  more.  I  shall  never  forgive 
myself,  and  I  am  afraid  you  will  never  forgive  me." 

"  Annie  says  you  were  so  kind.  She  remembers 
nothing  except  that  you  carried  her  in  here,"  faltered 
Mrs.  Kemys. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think  I  did  wrong  to  bring  her 
here,"  he  said,  colouring  all  over  his  dark  face. 
"  One  had  to  act  quickly,  and  I  did  not  know  how 
badly  she  might  be  hurt.  Besides  we  were  so  close 
to  this  place." 

"  I  am  sure  you  did  right." 

"  I  am  afraid  Mr.  Kemys  wasn't  very  pleased 
with  me,"  said  the  young  man  straightforwardly. 

"  I  daresay  he  was  too  much  —  upset  to  know 
what  he  said,"  said  'Mrs.  Kemys,  wondering  faintly 
how  far  Richard's  temper  had  carried  him ;  for  that 
he  had  been  angry  she  could  not  doubt.  "  He  sent 
me  to  bring  her  home,  but  of  course  I  see  that  is  im- 
possible." She  tried  to  smile,  feeling  the  embarrass- 


io8  THE  TYRANT 

ment  of  explanation.  "  I  am  going  to  ask  the  doctor 
to  write  a  note  for  me  to  take  back.  Of  course  it  is 
a  little  awkward  our  being  seven  miles  away.  I  shall 
be  so  anxious  for  news  of  her,  and  yet  it  will  not  be 
easy  for  me  to  be  backwards  and  forwards  as  often 
as  I  could  wish." 

Her  manner,  gentle  almost  to  timidity,  her  hesi- 
tating speech,  and  the  sadness  of  her  faded  blue  eyes, 
betrayed  more  than  she  was  aware,  to  Lord  Yorath. 

His  generous  heart,  already  inflamed  against 
Richard  Kemys,  beat  yet  higher  with  indignation. 

"  I  have  heard  he  was  a  brute  and  a  bully,"  he 
thought,  "  and  I  have  seen  his  callousness1  to  his 
daughter's  suffering  with  my  own  eyes.  This  poor 
lady  is  absolutely  afraid  of  him." 

The  thought  made  his  speech  yet  gentler,  and  his 
manner  almost  tender  in  its  extreme  deference. 

"  Of  course,  I  quite  see,"  he  said.  "  But  my 
mother  is  at  home  now,  and  she  comes  over  here  very 
often,  and  when  she  knows  what  disaster  my  care- 
lessness has  caused,  she  will  make  a  point  of  coming 
much  oftener,  I  am  certain,  and  of  telegraphing  to 
you  every  morning  exactly  how  your  daughter  is. 
I  expect  she  will  know  just  what  you  wish  to  be  told 
better  even  than  the  nurses  or  the  doctor,"  he  smiled. 
"  She  is  a  very  understanding  person.  We  are  so 
close  —  not  three  miles  off,  as  you  know  —  which 
is  nothing  in  a  motor  —  and  on  the  highroad,  so 
that  if  anything  were  wanted  we  could  bring  it  far 
more  quickly  than  you  could  send  from  Nantgwilt. 


THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR  109 

You'll  let  me  have  the  consolation  of  thinking  we 
can  help  a  little,  though  I  don't  deserve  it,  won't 
you?  "  he  said  entreatingly. 

As  Lord  Yorath  looked  down  at  her,  Mrs.  Kemys 
observed  at  last  the  fine  hazel  eyes  of  which  Annie 
had  spoken,  and  thought  she  had  never  seen  eyes  of 
any  colour  more  expressive  and  sympathetic. 

She  marvelled  to  find  herself  presently  talking 
almost  confidentially  to  this  stranger,  who  seemed 
to  understand  her  at  a  word,  and  before  whom  diffi- 
culties melted  like  snowflakes  in  sunshine;  so  that 
when  she  left  the  hospital  at  last,  she  had  almost  for- 
gotten her  dread  that  Richard's  anger  might  be 
aroused  at  her  returning  alone. 

Her  heart  was  warmed  and  her  courage  reani- 
mated; she  carried  the  doctor's  letter  in  her  hand, 
which  was  to  prove  to  her  husband  the  impossibility 
of  moving  Annie  for  the  present. 

She  no  longer  reproached  herself  for  her  wish  that 
Lord  Yorath  might  meet  her  child.  On  the  contrary 
she  was  conscious  of  secret  hopes  that  her  aspirations 
might  yet  be  fulfilled,  though  she  blushed  to  detect 
herself  dwelling  upon  this  happy  possibility. 

"  It  seems  hard  that  it  should  be  wrong  to  have 
such  thoughts,"  she  reflected,  rather  wistfully. 
"  How  can  a  mother  help  wishing  for  her  child's 
good?  It's  not  all  worldliness,  for  if  he  were  a  bad 
man  in  any  way,  I  wouldn't  give  her  to  him,  if  I 
could  —  my  pretty  Annie.  But  now  that  I've  seen 
him  —  the  boys  are  dear  fellows,  God  bless  them," 


i  io  THE  TYRANT 

she  sighed,  "but  they're  not  like  that.  He  is  so 
gentle,  as  she  said  —  with  that  high-bred  air ;  but  of 
course  he's  much  older  than  they  are,  and  a  man  of 
the  world,  while  they  are  but  lads.  I  have  not  heard 
any  man  speak  like  that  to  a  woman  —  since  poor 
Papa  died—" 

The  thought  just  glanced  through  her  mind  that 
it  would  have  been  to  just  such  another  as  this  young 
man  that  poor  Colonel  Myllon  would  fain  have  given 
his  only  child,  as  bright  and  as  pretty  and  as  high- 
spirited  then,  as  was  Annie  now.  But  though  she 
paid  the  tribute  of  that  passing  sigh  to  the  memory 
of  the  gallant  old  soldier's  pride  in  her, —  it  was  the 
present  and  not  the  past  that  absorbed  her  attention, 
as  she  lay  back  restfully  in  the  old  landau,  with  a 
smile  upon  her  thin  face;  soothed  by  the  fresh  air, 
and  the  unwonted  solitude;  lost  in  dreams  and  flat- 
tered by  vague  hopes  that  after  all,  some  good  might 
come  out  of  this  misfortune  which  had  befallen  her 
child. 

She  found  Richard  in  the  study,  pacing  restlessly 
about  the  room,  and  she  made  her  report  of  Annie's 
condition,  and  gave  him  the  doctor's  letter,  which  he 
read  contemptuously  and  crumpled  in  his  hand.  But 
he  did  not,  as  she  feared,  burst  into  a  rage,  though 
his  blue  eyes  glared  at  her,  as  though  he  restrained 
himself  with  difficulty. 

"  Of  course  they  won't  let  her  leave  the  hospital 
once  they've  got  her.  You  don't  suppose  they  get  so 


THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR  in 

many  paying  patients,"  he  said,  breathing  heavily. 
"  What  are  they  going  to  charge  for  keeping  her 
there?  He  writes  of  a  private  room  and  every  com- 
fort. How  much  do  you  think  I'm  going  to  pay  for 
it?  What  are  their  charges,  pray?  " 

Annette  collapsed  into  a  low  chair,  and  looked  up 
helplessly  at  her  husband,  who  came  and  stood  over 
her,  big  and  masterful,  with  his  handsome  frowning 
brows  knitted  above  his  fiery  blue  eyes. 

"Oh  Richard,  what  will  you  think  of  me?  If 
you  will  believe  it,  I  —  I  —  was  thinking  so  much  of 

—  of  other  things  that  I  never  even  thought  to  ask 
— "  she  said,  faltering. 

'  You  never  asked." 

She  waited  for  the  outburst  of  rage  and  indigna- 
tion that  would  follow  her  confession,  and  shrank 
back  even  as  she  tried  to  brace  herself  to  meet  it. 
To  her  surprise  it  did  not  come. 

He  turned  away  in  silence. 

His  wife  was  really  alarmed  by  this  unwonted  be- 
haviour. 

"  I  will  go  over  the  first  thing  in  the  morning," 
she  said  nervously,  "  and  put  it  right.  I  cannot 
think  what  possessed  me  that  I  asked  no  question  of 
the  kind.  But  in  the  relief  and  joy  of  finding  her  so 
comfortable  —  comparatively  —  and  so  brave  and 
cheerful,  poor  child,  in  spite  of  her  broken  arm, 
everything  else  went  out  of  my  head.  When  I  think 
what  it  might  have  been  —  both  of  you  thrown  out 

—  it  is  no  wonder  that  I  forgot.     No,  it  was  un- 


ii2  THE  TYRANT 

pardonable  of  me,  I  know,"  she  added  confusedly. 
"  It  is  very  good  of  you  not  to  be  angry  with  me, 
dear  Richard.  I  know  I  really  deserve  a  scolding." 

She  tried  to  laugh,  and  rose  and  stood  beside  him, 
where  he  had  sunk  into  his  elbow  chair  before  the 
writing  table,  leaning  his  head  on  his  hands  in  moody 
attitude. 

She  could  not  understand  his  silence,  and  was 
vaguely  troubled  by  it.  But  when  he  raised  his  head 
and  looked  her  full  in  the  face  she  saw  that  it  was 
from  no  lack  of  anger  that  he  did  not  speak ;  but  that 
he  was  again,  for  some  unexplained  reason,  making 
a  mighty  effort  to  restrain  himself. 

The  veins  on  his  broad  forehead  were  swollen,  and 
his  big  hands  were  trembling.  Her  heart  sank. 

They  stood  thus  in  silence  for  a  moment,  looking 
at  each  other,  and  then  he  pointed  to  the  door.  His 
wife  making  no  further  effort,  went  away,  and  left 
him  alone. 

Sophy  and  the  little  boys  were  waiting  to  besiege 
her  with  questions,  clamouring  for  her  attention  and 
full  of  anxiety  and  curiosity  to  learn  the  latest  news 
of  Annie.  They  could  not  imagine  why  she  had  been 
left  behind  in  Llysdinam  after  all,  and  not  brought 
home,  though  the  carriage  had  been  sent  for  her,  and 
a  fire  had  been  lighted  in  her  bedroom  by  Sharman's 
orders,  who  had  insisted  upon  this  unheard  of  luxury. 

Mrs.  Kemys  did  her  best  to  satisfy  them  before 
sending  Sophy  off  with  messages  to  her  grandmother, 
and  despatching  the  little  boys  to  the  nursery.  Then 


THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR  113 

she  went  wearily  into  her  own  room  to  take  off  her 
bonnet  and  change  her  gown. 

The  sweet  April  day  was  waning,  and  the  glow  of 
hope  and  cheerfulness  which  had  warmed  her  heart 
had  been  quenched  with  the  last  rays  of  the  evening 
sunshine.  Now  the  primroses  in  the  meadowland 
beyond  the  garden  fence  made  only  faint  patches  on 
the  wet  fragrant  soil  about  the  roots  of  the  old  oaks 
and  elms,  and  the  wild  cherry  trees  whitened  the 
dusk  of  the  woods  with  drifts  of  blossom  which 
would  presently  shine  like  snow  in  the  light  of  the 
moon. 

If  Mrs.  Kemys  had  dared,  she  would  have  lingered 
by  the  open  window,  watching  the  changes  of  the 
familiar  landscape  from  April  twilight  to  April  dusk. 
She  would  also  have  sent  a  message  to  say  she  was 
too  much  upset  by  the  events  of  the  day,  to  go  down 
to  dinner,  and  would  like  a  little  soup  sent  to  her 
room,  where  she  would  lie  down  upon  the  sofa  and 
rest.  But  such  action  had  no  precedent,  and  on  the 
contrary  she  was  obliged  to  hurry  her  preparation 
lest  she  should  be  late. 

She  dreaded  the  tete-a-tete  meal  that  she  would 
have  to  sit  through  opposite  her  husband's  gloomy 
and  scowling  face,  without  the  relief  of  a  third  pres- 
ence: for  Sophy  was  not  yet  deemed  old  enough  to 
be  admitted  to  the  mysteries  of  late  dinner. 

There  was  a  knock  at  her  door,  and  Mrs.  Sharman 
entered,  prepared  to  assist  her  lady  to  dress,  pour  out 
her  hot  water,  and  find  out  any  details  concerning  the 


ii4  THE  TYRANT 

accident  which  might  have  escaped  the  children's 
questioning. 

Mrs.  Sharman  had  been  the  master's  nurse  in  her 
youth,  but  when  he  grew  to  manhood,  she  quitted  the 
Manor  House  for  a  brief  term  of  years,  during  which 
interval  she  was  married,  and  widowed,  and  left  pen- 
niless to  fight  her  way  in  the  world  with  two  little 
sons  to  support  besides  herself.  She  struggled 
bravely  through  the  hard  time  of  their  infancy,  and 
then  placed  them  with  relatives,  and  returned  to  serv- 
ice in  time  to  receive  Mr.  Richard's  first-born  in  her 
arms.  Her  own  sons  were  no  dearer.  She  had 
always  been  a  privileged  person  in  the  household, 
tolerated  by  her  foster  son,  and  a  favourite  with  his 
wife. 

But  to-night  she  found  Mrs.  Kemys  uncommunica- 
tive. 

"  The  old  lady  has  been  in  a  dreadful  state, 
Ma'am,"  she  observed.  "  I  tried  to  get  Mr.  Rich- 
ard to  go  over  to  see  her," — Mrs.  Sharman  retained 
the  privilege  of  calling  the  lord  of  the  manor  by  his 
Christian  name, — "  but  he  was  in  one  of  his  moods 
and  there  was  no  getting  him  to  do  anything.  He 
would  have  it  Miss  Annie  was  all  right,  and  you'd  be 
sure  to  bring  her  back  directly  her  arm  was  set  as  if 
it  was  no  more  than  a  twig  as  had  snapped." 

"  Oh,  Sharman,  if  you  could  see  her !  She  looks 
so  pretty  in  spite  of  the  pain,  and  they  have  been  so 
good  to  her,  and  made  her  as  comfortable  as  pos- 
sible. She  begged  me  to  leave  her  there." 


THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR  115 

"  I  said  she  wouldn't  be  let  to  move,"  said  Shar- 
man  rustling  about  in  the  ample  dignity  of  her  black 
silk  dress. 

She  lingered,  aware  that  her  mistress  desired  her 
to  g°>  yet  restrained  by  curiosity  and  interest  from 
leaving  the  room. 

Mrs.  Kemys  stood  before  the  dressing-glass, 
fastening  a  little  old-fashioned  pearl  brooch  into  the 
lace  collar  of  the  black  grenadine  which  had  served 
her  for  so  many  years  as  a  dinner  gown.  Beside  her 
slight  figure,  with  its  rather  stooping  shoulders,  Mrs. 
Sharman's  large  proportions  looked  larger  yet.  She 
approached  so  closely  to  her  lady  that  Mrs.  Kemys 
could  hear  the  creaking  of  her  tightly-buttoned 
bodice  as  her  ample  bosom  rose  and  fell,  making  the 
bunch  of  charms  upon  her  solid  watchchain  jingle. 

"  The  men  have  got  talking,  since  the  carriage 
came  back,  ma'am,"  she  said  confidentially,  "  as  it 
was  Lord  Yorath's  motor  that  caused  the  accident, 
and  him  as  carried  Miss  Annie  to  the  hospital  and 
hadn't  left  her  for  a  moment  since.  Of  course  I 
gave  Pryse  a  hint  to  make  them  hold  their  tongues. 
But  you  know  what  servants  is,  ma'am,  and  espe- 
cially out-door.  They  will  talk.  But  I  couldn't  help 
thinking  to  myself  that  if  somebody  must  be  upsetting 
of  her,  and  hurting  her  poor  arm  like  that,  why,  it 
seems  like  God's  providence  it  should  be  him,  as 
would  be  the  very  gentleman  of  all  others  in  the 
country-side  one  would  pick  out  for  our  Miss  Annie." 

Mrs.  Kemys  looked  at  Sharman  in  a  dismay  too 


n6  THE  TYRANT 

great  for  words.  To  hear  her  most  secret  aspira- 
tions thus  unblushingly  spoken  aloud  by  the  old  nurse 
seemed  to  put  her  to  shame  unutterable. 

"  You  shouldn't  say  such  things,  Sharman,"  she 
said,  almost  severely. 

"  I  wouldn't  dream  of  saying  them,  ma'am,  to 
anyone  but  you,"  said  Sharman,  with  a  touch  of  in- 
dignation. Then  she  broke  down  and  began  to  cry; 
letting  forth  her  pent-up  anxiety  of  the  past  hours  in 
a  flood  of  tears  and  volubility. 

"  If  you  knew  what  a  time  I've  had  while  you've 
been  gone.  Not  knowing  if  my  child  as  is  the  flower 
of  the  flock  and  the  sunshine  of  the  house,  was  dead 
or  alive,  or  disfigured  maybe  for  life.  And  Mr. 
Richard  content  to  come  home  and  leave  her  like  that, 
as  was  always  as  hard  as  nails  when  he  was  angry, 
though  I  can't  forget  there  was  a  time  when  he  used 
to  put  his  little  arms  round  my  neck  and  say  '  Kiss 
me,  Nana  '  more  coaxing  than  both  his  brothers  put 
together  if  he  was  the  black  sheep.  But  there,  if 
nobody  else  hadn't  the  courage  to  tell  him  of  his  con- 
duck,  leaving  my  Miss  Annie  to  strangers,  7  had; 
and  I  will  say  he  bore  it  like  a  lamb;  just  told  me 
to  leave  the  room  or  he'd  make  me  without  so  much 
as  giving  me  a  wicked  word.  And  when  I  find  a 
bit  of  comfort  thinking  one  never  knows  what  things 
may  lead  to  —  to  be  told  I'm  taking  a  liberty  after 
all." 

Annette's  tender  heart  melted. 

"  Oh,  Sharman,  as  if  I  could  ever  say  that  to  you, 


THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR  117 

after  all  we've  been  through  together,"  she  said,  put- 
ting her  arms  round  the  old  woman,  "  and  in  this 
very  room,  where  all  my  children  were  born ;  and  my 
little  Lucy^died  in  your  arms  — " 

Mrs.  Sharman  was  mollified,  and  gulped  down  her 
emotion. 

"  Now  don't  get  thinking  of  sad  thoughts  the  last 
thing  at  night,"  she  said,  with  her  usual  mixture  of 
deferential  coaxing  and  authority.  "  But  just  let 
me  fasten  that  lace  for  you,  ma'am,  and  then  you'll 
be  all  ready  for  to  go  downstairs  and  face  the  master. 
Only  before  you  go,  I  should  like  to  hear  —  I  can't 
deny  it  — " 

"Oh  Sharman!  What  would  you  like  to  hear? 
You  are  irrepressible,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  though  she 
knew  very  well,  and  shook  her  head  even  as  she 
asked  the  question. 

"  What  the  young  gentleman  is  like,  ma'am," 
whispered  Sharman,  and  she  looked  over  her  lady's 
shoulder  at  her  reflection  in  the  glass  with  twink- 
ling eyes. 


CHAPTER  VII 

RICHARD  AT  HOME 

THE  promised  telegram  arrived  next  morning  im- 
mediately after  the  early  breakfast  at  Nantgwilt,  and 
though  it  was  addressed  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  it 
was  opened  by  Richard  Kemys,  who  took  it  from  the 
hand  of  old  Pryse  and  read  it,  with  lowering  brow. 

"  Matron  gives  satisfactory  report  of  Miss  Kemys. 
Very  fair  night.  No  sign  of  concussion,  but  doctor 
says  absolute  quiet  essential  as  she  is  suffering  from 
shock.'' 

The  signature  was  Yorath. 

"  It's  that  officious  fool  again,"  said  Richard 
Kemys,  in  a  voice  of  thunder.  "  What  is  he  doing 
at  the  hospital  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning?  " 

"  He  said  his  mother  would  go  over  early.  She 
goes  almost  every  day,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys.  "  They 
built  it  and  are  the  principal,  almost  the  only  —  sub- 
scribers. Perhaps  it  was  she  who  sent  the  tele- 
gram." 

"  I  shall  give  the  doctor  to  understand  that  his 
enquiries  are  not  to  be  answered,"  said  Mr.  Kemys. 
"  He  not  only  caused  the  accident,  but  was  exces- 
sively insolent  to  me.  If  I  hadn't  been  too  shaken 
to  know  what  I  was  doing,  I'd  have  thrown  him  over 

1x8 


RICHARD  AT  HOME  119 

the  hedge  then  and  there.  And  now  he  has  the  im- 
pudence to  go  and  enquire  after  her  and  send  me 
telegrams." 

"  Oh  Richard.  If  he  was  the  cause  of  the  acci- 
dent, what  could  he  do  but  enquire?  He  was  the 
very  soul  of  kindness,  and  courtesy.  I  can't  think 
of  his  ever  being  anything  else." 

"  Oh !  you  saw  him  then,"  he  said,  turning  upon 
her  sharply.  "  You  said  nothing  about  it." 

"  How  could  I  say  anything  about  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Kemys  evasively;  but  the  colour  mounted  to  her  pale 
face.  "  I  did  not  like  to  provoke  you.  I  knew  you 
blamed  him,  and  he  did  not  deny  he  was  partly  re- 
sponsible for  the  accident." 

"  Partly  responsible!  I  hold  him  entirely  respon- 
sible, and  I  shall  sue  him  for  damages.  Whatever 
Annie's  illness  costs  me  and  the  mending  of  the  dog- 
cart—  if  it's  not  past  mending  —  he  shall  pay  for, 
I  promise  you.  I  shall  write  to  Machon  this  morn- 
ing, and  tell  him  to  go  over  and  see  Annie  at  once 
and  get  her  evidence." 

"  Oh  Richard,  not  till  she  is  stronger.  You  see 
what  the  telegram  says.  And  it  would  be  of  no  use, 
for  she  remembers  nothing.  Oh  why,  why,  can't  you 
leave  it  all  alone,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Kemys  despair- 
ingly. "  And  if  it's  expense  you're  worried  about, 
as  it  generally  is,"  she  said,  ashamed  of  the  sugges- 
tion, yet  willing  to  turn  his  weakness  to  good  account, 
since  she  knew  not  by  what  other  means  he  could 
be  moved,  "  then  surely  you  had  better  let  this  young 


120  THE  TYRANT 

man  and  his  mother  show  some  attention  to  Annie. 
I  don't  for  a  moment  think  they'll  let  you  pay  for 
her  being  there." 

"  Good  heavens,  you  don't  suppose  I'd  let  that 
hound  pay  for  my  daughter,"  said  Richard  Kemys, 
more  angry  than  ever. 

"  Oh  Richard,  I  don't  know  what  to  think.  I  get 
so  confused.  I  thought  you  said  you'd  make  him  pay 
for  everything,"  said  the  poor  lady,  bewildered.  "  I 
thought  if  it  could  be  done  in  a  nice  friendly  way 
without  going  to  law,  how  much  better  it  would  be." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  supposed  even  a  woman  could 
be  such  a  fool  as  to  see  no  difference  between  accept- 
ing charity  from  your  enemy,  and  forcing  him  to  pay 
you  a  sum  of  money  in  a  court  of  law,"  he  said  with 
his  harsh  contemptuous  laugh. 

"Why  should  you  call  him  your  enemy?  And 
you  might  not  win  your  case,  for  indeed  he  does  not 
look  like  a  person  who  would  be  put  upon.  If  you 
insist  on  bringing  an  action  he  might  fight  as  well  as 
you.  And  they  say  that  the  accident  was  nobody's 
fault." 

"They  say!    Who  say?" 

"  Lord  Yorath's  chauffeur,  and  the  man  on  the 
bicycle  who  saw  the  accident,  and  stayed  behind  to 
help  you,"  she  answered,  unexpectedly. 

Richard  Kemys  grew  suddenly  silent  at  the  mention 
of  the  man  on  the  bicycle,  and  Annette,  after  wait- 
ing a  moment,  rose  to  leave  the  breakfast  table, 


RICHARD  AT  HOME  121 

whence  the  younger  members  of  the  family  had  al- 
ready departed. 

He  called  to  her  as  she  opened  the  door. 

"  Did  you  see  him  too?  " 

"  The  man  on  the  bicycle?  "  she  asked,  wondering. 
"  No,  he  had  gone.  The  chauffeur  said  he  was  ready 
to  swear  Lord  Yorath  was  not  driving  fast  and  that 
his  horn  was  sounded  frequently.  He  gave  Lord 
Yorath  his  name  and  address  in  case  he  should  be 
wanted.  I  heard  it  all  through  the  matron." 

"  A  nice  set  of  gossips  they  seem  to  be." 

"  People  will  talk,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  remember- 
ing Sharman's  remarks. 

"  They'd  better  not  talk  about  me,"  said  Mr. 
Kemys,  and  his  eyes  glittered  dangerously.  "  Look 
here,  Annette,  I  —  I'm  going  up  to  London  by  the 
mid-day  train." 

She  drew  nearer,  surprised  and  alarmed  by  the 
nervousness  of  his  manner. 

"  I've  had  letters  from  my  office  this  morning," 
he  said,  and  broke  off  in  fierce  irritation.  "  Why 
are  you  looking  at  me  like  that?  "  Then  he  remem- 
bered that  the  postbag  had  not  yet  arrived.  "  I 
don't  mean  to-day — "  he  stammered  —  Richard 
Kemys  was  not  a  good  liar  — "  but  for  some  time 
past,  that  have  made  me  dissatisfied,  and  I've  come 
to  a  sudden  resolution  to  go  up  and  see  how  things 
are  getting  on  for  myself.  Perhaps  I  shall  let  all  this 
stand  over  till  I  come  back." 


122  THE  TYRANT 

"  Very  well,"  she  said  submissively.  Her  heart 
suddenly  lightened  at  the  thought  that  for  the  pres- 
ent at  least  Annie  would  not  be  molested,  but  she 
dared  not  show  her  satisfaction.  "  How  long  shall 
you  be  away,  Richard?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  can't  tell.  That's  my  busi- 
ness. I  suppose  I  can  return  when  I  choose  to  my 
own  house  without  giving  anyone  notice,"  he 
growled. 

"  I  only  meant  —  you  know  the  boys  will  be  here 
for  the  Easter  vacation?  " 

"  The  boys'  coming  and  going  won't  affect  my 
plans.  I'm  going  to  see  my  London  lawyer  on  busi- 
ness, and  while  I'm  there,  I  shall  give  him  instruc- 
tions about  altering  my  will." 

She  waited  anxiously. 

"  I  daresay  you  think  I've  forgotten  all  about  our 
conversation  yesterday,  but  I've  not.  If  Rodric 
chooses  to  go  off  to  the  Argentine  against  my  orders, 
I'll  put  Corney  in  his  place,  and  tie  the  whole  thing 
up  on  his  children.  I'll  show  them  what  sort  of  an 
eldest  son  they've  got  hold  of."  He  laughed  long 
and  loud. 

"  Richard,  it  would  be  a  wicked  thing  to  do.  Yes, 
I  will  say  it,"  she  faced  him  indignantly,  trembling 
yet  brave  in  the  interests  of  her  first-born  and  best 
loved  son.  "  I  have  never  defied  you,  nor  stood  out 
against  anything  you  wished.  But  this  I  will  oppose. 
Roddy  has  been  a  good  boy  always;  a  good  son  to 
us  both,  and  you  have  no  right  to  take  his  birthright 


RICHARD  AT  HOME  123 

from  him.  You  were  not  a  good  son  to  your  father, 
Richard,  but  he  did  not  treat  you  so.  He  could  have 
left  the  property  away  from  you,  but  he  knew  he 
held  it  in  trust  morally,  though  not  legally,  for  the 
family." 

"  Go  on,"  he  said,  with  a  bitter  smile.  "  It's  a 
new  thing  to  see  you  in  a  rage,  Annette.  It  almost 
makes  you  look  pretty  again,  bringing  the  colour 
back  to  your  white  face." 

"  How  can  you  taunt  me  like  that,"  she  said 
breathlessly.  "  Richard,  do  you  want  to  make  me 
hate  you  —  me  —  that  loved  you  so  —  once."  Her 
hands  dropped  by  her  side,  her  voice  softened  to 
entreaty.  She  was  not  formed  for  defiance,  poor 
Annette,  but  for  gentleness.  Yet  she  reproached 
herself  that  she  could  not  keep  up  her  attitude  of 
righteous  wrath,  even  for  the  son  she  loved,  and 
though  her  soul  within  her  burnt  with  indignation 
at  the  expression  on  Richard's  face  as  he  looked  at 
her,  and  laughed  again,  well-pleased  at  her  weak- 
ness. 

"  So  you  thought  you  could  defy  me  — "  he  said. 

"  I  could  —  for  the  children's  sake.  If  it  would 
do  them  any  good,"  she  said  in  despair.  "  If  I  had 
the  power  I  would  find  the  courage  to  defy  you  — 
for  them." 

"  Not  you,"  he  said,  and  with  a  curious  change  of 
mood  held  out  his  hand  to  her.  Mechanically  she 
moved  towards  him,  but  the  easy  triumph  of  his 
half-contemptuous  smile  arrested  her.  A  change 


124  THE  TYRANT 

came  over  the  meekness  of  her  spirit,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life  she  failed  in  the  response  he  ex- 
pected. 

The  recollection  of  the  gentle  and  courtly  defer- 
ence rendered  to  her  yesterday  by  a  man  of  very 
different  breeding  brought  a  deep  flush  to  the  worn 
face  that  had  been  so  lovely  once ;  and  she  understood 
for  the  first  time  the  anger  of  her  father  when  his 
cherished  petted  child  had  yielded  herself  to  the  bold, 
rough  wooing  of  Richard  Kemys. 

She  withdrew  a  pace  or  two,  and  stood  before  her 
husband,  with  her  thin  hands,  ringless  save  for  the 
token  of  her  bond  —  folded  in  front  of  her,  and  her 
head  erect. 

"  Richard,  you  do  not  know  me  yet.  For  the 
children's  sake  there  is  nothing  I  would  not  do.  And 
for  yours,  it  would  be  best  if  you  would  listen  to  me. 
I  know  you  despise  my  judgment,  and  think  that 
women  know  nothing  of  the  world  or  of  men.  But 
if  they  are  sometimes  blind  where  their  husbands  or 
their  lovers  are  concerned,  yet  they  know  their  sons 
and  their  brothers.  They  know  them  as  their 
fathers  never  know  them.  I  know  my  boy  through 
and  through.  He  has  his  faults,  but  he  is  not  one 
who  would  fail.  He  has  your  spirit  though  his  heart 
is  softer  and  kinder  than  yours,  Richard,  and  he  is 
brave  and  honest  and  persevering  as  a  boy  can  be. 
If  you  were  wise,  you  would  listen  to  me,  and  give 
him  the  money,  and  let  him  go.  Ask  Granny's  ad- 
vice. You  often  say  she  is  cleverer  than  I  am,  and 


RICHARD  AT  HOME  125 

I  daresay  she  is,  though  she  does  not  understand  my 
boy  so  well  as  I  do." 

"  I  am  not  given  to  asking  advice  from  women, 
my  dear,"  he  said.  "  I've  no  doubt  you  and  my 
mother  would  give  Rodric  a  thousand  pounds,  or  ten 
thousand  if  you  could  — " 

"  I  would,"  she  said,  with  that  new  ring  of  defiance 
in  her  voice.  "  I  would.  Rodric  is  to  be  trusted. 
I  would  trust  him  with  everything  I  have  in  the 
world,  and  so  would  his  granny." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  have  in  the  world  to  trust 
him  with,  and  luckily  I've  put  it  out  of  his  granny's 
power  to  hand  over  her  money  to  anybody,"  he  said 
with  a  chuckle. 

"  No,  I  have  nothing  in  the  world,"  she  said,  and 
her  head  drooped  on  her  breast.  "  I  can  do  noth- 
ing—  but  plead  for  my  children,  Richard.  It  is 
others  —  who  will  help  them." 

"What  others?" 

"  Jack  Meredydd  will  lend  him  the  money." 

"  Let  him,"  said  Richard,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 
"  He  won't  get  it  back  from  me  if  he  does.  I've 
given  him  fair  warning  of  that.  And  I  shall  write 
and  give  Rodric  warning.  I  shan't  let  him  know  I'm 
in  town  though,  and  mind  you  don't.  I  can't  be 
bothered  and  worried  by  the  boys  running  after  me 
when  I've  my  business  to  attend  to." 

"  I  should  not  think  of  telling  him,"  said  Mrs. 
Kemys,  who  had  no  desire  that  her  husband  should 
hold  any  such  interview  with  her  son,  away  from  her 


126  THE  TYRANT 

own  softening  influence.  "  It  is  far  better  to  write 
as  you  say,  but  you  know,  Richard,  he  is  not  the  boy 
to  be  moved  by  threats.  If  you  told  him  kindly,  that 
you  did  not  wish  him  to  go  —  if  you  appealed  to  him 
—  there  would  be  more  chance  of  his  yielding  to 
you." 

"  I  prefer  my  own  way." 

"  And  if  you  really  are  going  to  do  so  wrong  a 
thing,  why  is  Courtenay  to  be  passed  over,"  said  the 
mother,  catching  at  straws.  "  He  comes  next. 
What  has  he  done  to  forfeit  his  rights?  " 

"  I'll  have  no  sentimental  prig  of  a  bookworm  in 
my  place,"  said  Mr.  Kemys.  "  Courtenay  is 
capable  of  giving  it  all  back  to  his  brother  in  a  fit  of 
high-mindedness,  and  you  know  it." 

"  I  am  thankful  to  know  it.  And  Corney  would 
do  the  same,  I  hope,  when  the  time  came." 

"  I'll  take  care  it's  not  in  his  power,"  said  Richard 
Kemys,  and  he  lit  his  cigar  as  a  sign  that  the  inter- 
view was  ended. 

Mrs.  Kemys  sought  counsel,  as  usual,  from  her 
mother-in-law. 

She  had  sometimes  reproached  herself  for  the 
habit,  declaring  that  a  wife  should  know  better  than 
to  allow  even  his  mother  to  criticise  her  husband. 
But  circumstances  were  too  strong  for  her,  and 
though  she  uttered  no  word  of  disloyalty  she  could 
not  keep  up  the  pretence  of  calm  and  well-being  with 
one  who  shared  so  poignantly  her  hopes  and  fears  for 


RICHARD  AT  HOME  127 

the  children,  and  understood  the  conflicting  elements 
so  well. 

Often,  in  her  heart,  Annette  blamed  her  husband's 
mother  for  the  faults  of  her  husband;  as  many  an- 
other wife  has  done  before  her.  If  only  she  had 
brought  him  up  differently.  To  be  more  gentle  and 
considerate,  as  she  herself  had  taught  his  sons. 

Richard  had  been  the  black  sheep,  as  Sharman 
said,  and  his  mother  had  let  his  selfishness  and 
strength  of  will  get  the  better  of  her  while  she  exer- 
cised her  lawful  authority  only  over  the  docile  sons, 
whose  training  was  so  much  more  easily  encom- 
passed. 

If  he  had  been  taught  to  master  himself  in  his  boy- 
hood, his  wife's  lot  had  been  an  easier  one,  Annette 
often  thought,  and  sighed  as  she  thought. 

Old  Mrs.  Kemys  in  her  turn  regretted  that  An- 
nette's fine  spirit  had  been  broken  down  so  utterly 
under  the  test  which  her  marriage  had  applied. 
With  her  beauty,  gaiety  and  intelligence  it  seemed 
incredible  that  she  had  never  been  able  to  rule  the 
man  who  had  been,  at  least  for  a  time,  passionately 
in  love  with.  her.  Mrs.  Kemys  had  rejoiced  when 
she  learnt  that  Richard  was  to  marry  the  pretty  spoilt 
daughter  of  Colonel  Myllon;  she  had  rejoiced  that 
the  Colonel,  fuming  and  fretting,  had  put  every  ob- 
stacle in  the  way  of  the  marriage,  so  that  Richard's 
passion  was  ardently  inflamed  and  his  stubborn  will 
absolutely  bent  on  the  possession  of  the  bride  thus 
denied  him.  She  had  believed  that  thus  in  Annette's 


128  THE  TYRANT 

person  would  the  sex  despised  of  her  unchivalrous 
son  be  avenged.  But  she  had  not  reckoned  on  the 
traitorous  softness  of  the  maiden's  heart. 

Rough,  unpolished,  masterful  as  her  suitor  was, 
his  tempestuous  wooing  had  taken  Annette  Myllon 
by  storm.  The  very  contrast  to  her  father's  gentle 
urbanity  attracted  her,  since  variety  is  always  piquant 
to  the  fancy. 

Physically,  Richard  possessed,  besides,  that 
breadth  of  shoulder  and  strength  of  muscle  that  ap- 
peals to  a  woman.  His  thick  hair  was  brushed  from 
a  bold  open  brow,  and  his  blue  eyes,  if  they  held 
something  of  sullen  ferocity  in  their  expression,  yet 
looked  forth  from  a  singularly  handsome  face; 
rather  large-featured,  but  altogether  manly  and  virile. 

She  had  never  heard  a  rough  word  from  her  father 
in  her  life;  she  heard  them  in  plenty  from  her  lover, 
even  during  the  days  of  courtship ;  yet  fascinated,  her 
weakness  clung  to  his  strength,  and  yielded  to  It,  and 
to  the  force  of  his  desire.  He  took  her  from  her 
father  with  a  laugh  of  conscious  triumph ;  and  the  old 
man  rebelled  in  vain  against  the  dictates  of  nature, 
which  bade  the  child  of  his  old  age  —  the  petted 
queen  of  his  heart  and  home  —  become  the  willing 
slave  of  a  young  husband,  a  man  as  much  inferior  to 
her  in  breeding  and  character  as  he  was  her  superior 
in  wealth  and  position. 

Colonel  Myllon  had  been  dead  for  many  years  be- 
fore his  daughter's  spirit  cried  to  his  for  forgiveness. 


RICHARD  AT  HOME  129 

Slowly  the  experience  of  motherhood  taught  her, 
in  her  turn,  the  depth  of  the  suffering  she  had  care- 
lessly, unknowingly,  inflicted  upon  that  noble  and 
tender  heart  of  the  old  soldier,  whose  one  treasure 
on  earth  she  had  been.  He  had  not  long  outlived 
her  desertion  of  him,  for  desertion  he  felt  it  to  be, 
though  he  had  seen  her  almost  daily;  and  he  had 
never  overcome  his  dislike  of  his  son-in-law.  An- 
nette had  stood  between  the  two  men  she  loved  so 
differently,  anxious  to  keep  the  peace  between  them, 
too  much  absorbed  in  her  love  for  her  babies  to  ob- 
serve how  rapidly  her  father  was  failing.  Perhaps 
it  had  been  even  a  dreadful  relief  when  those  daily 
visits  need  no  longer  be  paid  to  the  Red  House. 
Even  Richard  could  not  grumble  at  her  brief  pil- 
grimages to  that  other  yet  narrower  and  humbler 
dwelling  in  the  old  churchyard,  where  all  that  was 
mortal  of  a  gentle  warrior  and  devoted  father  now 
lay  sleeping.  Nevertheless  with  the  passing  of  his 
spirit  the  lingering  gaiety  and  light-heartedness  of 
Annette  seemed  to  fade  altogether ;  and  there  was  no 
further  necessity  for  pretence ;  no  anxious,  loving  eyes 
were  watching  her  fondly.  Old  Mrs.  Kemys  kept 
her  jealous  watch  only  upon  the  children,  and  sighed 
because  Richard's  temper  grew  worse  as  they  grew 
older.  She  reflected  that  he  set  a  shocking  example 
to  his  offspring,  and  pitied  while  she  blamed  his  wife 
for  her  meek  submission  to  his  tyranny. 

Thus  the  two  women  who  loved  Richard  Kemys 


1 30  THE  TYRANT 

made  excuses  for  him,  each  at  the  other's  expense; 
neither  resenting,  while  each  was  instinctively  aware, 
of  the  other's  secret  blame. 

"  If  he  goes  away  before  the  boys  come  home  for. 
Easter,  it  is  the  best  thing  he  can  do,"  said  old  Mrs. 
Kemys. 

"  Yes,"  Annette  agreed,  "  if,  as  he  says,  he  will  not 
see  Roddy  in  London." 

"  I  should  make  sure  of  that.  Why  not  telegraph 
for  Roddy?" 

She  shook  her  head.     "  I  dare  not." 

Mrs.  Kemys  shrugged  her  shoulders.  ;'  Well  — 
we  must  trust  to  Providence.  As  for  altering  his 
will,  a  man  may  do  it  a  hundred  times,  and  not  die. 
Richard  is  as  strong  as  a  horse,  and  in  another  year 
or  two  he  will  have  begun  to  quarrel  with  Corney. 
If  Roddy  goes  out  to  the  Argentine  and  gets  on  there, 
and  has  the  sense  to  stop  there  and  to  refrain  from 
writing  aggravating  letters,  why,  Richard  will  be 
learning  to  think  him  his  favourite  son  before  many 
more  years  have  passed  over  our  heads." 

"  That  is  very  possible,"  Annette  acknowledged. 

"  Of  course  it  is  possible.  He  will  be  for  tying 
up  everything  he  has  in  the  world  on  Roddy  one  of 
these  days,  or  on  his  unborn  sons.  Men  are  curious 
creatures,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  rather  contemptuously. 
'  They  never  can  bear  to  hand  over  their  money  out 
and  out  to  their  natural  heirs  to  do  what  they  like 
with,  even  if  they  happen  to  be  responsible  persons 
of  middle  age.  No,  no.  They  must  be  for  settling 


RICHARD  AT  HOME  131 

it  down  and  tying  it  up  so  that  in  the  next  generation 
some  fool  of  a  boy  of  one  and  twenty,  whom  they've 
never  even  seen,  can  play  ducks  and  drakes  with  it." 

"  I  suppose  a  man  wishes  to  make  his  authority 
felt  as  long  as  possible  even  after  he's  dead,"  said 
Annette,  sighing. 

"  It's  his  only  consolation  for  not  being  able  to 
take  his  money  away  with  him,"  said  the  old  lady, 
nodding.  "  Well  —  I  hope  Richard  won't  meet 
Roddy,  and  that  his  business  will  detain  him  in  Lon- 
don until  we've  had  time  to  talk  to  the  poor  boy  and 
advise  him  for  the  best.  And  as  for  dear  Annie's 
mishap  —  why  it's  just  Providence  if  her  father  is 
kept  out  of  the  way.  I  suppose  you'll  be  going  over 
to  see  her  as  soon  as  Richard  has  started." 

"  I  am  driving  him  to  the  station  and  going  on 
to  Llysdinam,"  said  Annette.  "  Sophy  wanted  to 
come  with  me." 

"  Just  leave  Sophy  at  home.  She  is  only  inquisi- 
tive, and  she  will  be  putting  ideas  into  Annie's  head. 
Besides  I  thought  the  child  was  to  be  kept  as  quiet 
as  possible.  The  less  you  go  yourself  the  better. 
Why  must  you  go  to-day  at  all  ?  with  this  young  man 
and  his  mother  so  ready  to  look  after  her." 

"  I  could  not  bear  not  to  see  her." 

"  Mothers  never  will  leave  well  alone,"  said  Mrs. 
Kemys  impatiently.  "  Give  the  child  my  love,  and 
tell  her  that  her  father  may  be  away  some  time. 
It  will  ease  her  mind,  poor  love.  And  take  her  a 
few  choice  violets  from  her  granny."  Old  Mrs, 


i32  THE  TYRANT 

Kemys  took  the  bunch  from  the  dwarf  brown  earth- 
enware pitcher  that  stood  on  the  table  beside  her,  and 
dried  the  stalks  with  the  duster  that  lay  folded 
within  reach  of  her  careful  hand. 

"  Tell  Sophy  I  want  her.  I'll  think  of  something 
to  keep  her  quiet,"  she  said,  nodding  and  smiling. 
Then  her  manner  changed. 

"  This  may  be  a  crisis,  Annette.  Sitting  here 
away  from  you  all,  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  think, 
I  can  see  that  it  may  be  a  crisis  for  Annie,  and  for 
Roddy,  God  bless  them  both,  the  flowers  of  the  flock 
as  Sharman  says.  You'll  need  to  steer  your  way 
carefully." 

"  I  feel  it,  Granny."  Annette's  pale  face  drooped 
over  the  fragrant  dewy  violets  she  held,  which 
formed  a  refreshing  contrast  to  the  faded  roses  in 
her  old  black  shady  garden  hat,  and  to  the  grey  gown 
which  by  its  very  plainness  emphasized  the  thinness 
of  her  figure.  "  What  can  I  do.  I  am  so  helpless." 

"Helpless!  That  is  what  a  woman  need  never 
say  when  she  has  her  mother-wit  to  help  her,  and 
only  a  man  to  deal  with,"  said  the  old  lady  sharply. 
Then  she  softened,  but  Annette  felt  acutely  the  un- 
dercurrent of  contempt  in  the  very  kindness  of  her 
tones.  "  It's  not  mother-wit,  nor  tact  nor  patience 
that  you  lack,  but  just  courage,"  she  said.  "  Cour- 
age to  stand  up  for  your  children  if  you  can't  for 
yourself  —  whenever  you  get  the  chance." 

"If  God  would  give  me  the  chance, —  I  will  find 
the  courage,"  said  Annette. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ANNIE   IN  THE    HOSPITAL 

THE  little  whitewashed  room  at  the  cottage  hospital 
was  transformed  into  a  bower  of  blossom.  A  white 
camellia  in  perfection  of  bearing  stood  in  the  win- 
dow; the  chimney-piece  was  a  mass  of  hothouse 
bloom  carefully  selected  for  its  scentlessness ;  but  on 
the  table  beside  the  patient's  bed  stood  a  basket  of 
large-belled  lilies  of  the  valley,  a  bowl  of  Parma  vio- 
lets, and  a  jar  of  specimen  roses,  filling  the  air  with 
delicate  perfume. 

"  I  was  afraid  they  would  be  almost  too  much  for 
her,  but  she  does  love  them  so.  They  all  come  from 
Artramont  of  course.  The  glass-houses  there  are  so 
beautifully  kept  now;  very  different  from  the  old 
days.  Lady  Yorath  has  a  passion  for  flowers,  she 
says,  and  she  told  your  daughter  she  was  just  like  a 
rose  herself  in  the  midst  of  them  all,"  said  the  ma- 
tron, taking  a  sly  pleasure  in  the  glow  of  colour  in- 
stantly called  by  her  words  to  the  sweet  face  on  the 
pillow. 

"  Oh,  Mamma,"  Annie  said,  "  everyone  has  been 
so  kind.  You're  not  going  to  take  me  away?  " 

"  No,  no,  my  darling.  It's  all  right.  Papa  has 
gone  to  London,"  whispered  Mrs.  Kemys,  and  the 
133, 


i34  THE  TYRANT 

gladness  in  the  wide  blue  eyes  gave  her  a  slight  pang 
of  self-reproach,  for  in  spite  of  herself  she  shared 
Annie's  relief. 

"  He  was  obliged  to  go  up  on  business,  and  he 
may  be  away  some  time,"  she  continued,  recklessly 
adopting  her  mother-in-law's  advice  to  give  Annie 
all  the  peace  of  mind  possible  under  the  circum- 
stances. "  So  you  can  be  quite  easy  and  think  of 
nothing  but  getting  well.  Now  the  flush  has  died 
away,  you  are  very  white  and  wan,  my  darling.  Has 
the  night  seemed  very,  very  long?" 

Annie  made  light  of  her  sufferings  partly  in  com- 
passion for  her  mother's  anxious  looks  and  partly  be- 
cause her  mind  was  filled  with  the  wonderful  hap- 
penings of  the  morning. 

"  Mamma,  he  was  over  here  at  eight  o'clock  this 
morning  to  enquire  after  me,"  she  said,  with  the  col- 
our coming  and  going  under  her  transparent  skin. 
"  And  at  ten  Lady  Yorath  came  with  all  these  flow- 
ers. She  had  arranged  them  herself.  Oh,  Mamma, 
she  is  an  angel!  and  do  you  know  she  looks  much 
younger  than  you  though  she  must  be  —  why  he  is 
twenty-nine,"  said  Annie,  in  awestruck  tones. 

"  She  is  some  years  older  than  I,  but  then  —  she 
has  only  the  one  son  — "  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  as  though 
to  defend  herself.  "  Yet  she  must  have  known 
trouble,  poor  thing,  for  her  husband  died  when  Lord 
Yorath  was  only  a  little  boy." 

"  I  suppose  it  would  depend  on  what  he  was  like 
whether  that  was  a  trouble,"  said  Annie,  naively. 


ANNIE  IN  THE  HOSPITAL       135 

"  But  oh,  Mamma,  she  is  so  sweet.  I  have  never 
seen  anyone  the  least  like  her,  and  directly  I  am  well 
enough  to  be  moved  she  wants  me  to  go  over  to  Art- 
ramont.  She  made  the  doctor  say  it  could  be  to- 
morrow or  next  day ;  and  she  says  it  would  be  better 
for  me  than  going  home  because  it  is  so  much  closer, 
and  I  ought  to  have  a  little  change  after  the  shock! 
She  put  it  so  nicely.  Oh,  Mamma,  do  you  think  — 
could  you  —  could  anybody  persuade  Papa  to  let 
me—" 

'  You  shall  go  if  we  can  possibly  manage  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Kemys,  soothingly.  Her  own  heart  beat  a  lit- 
tle faster.  The  ecstasy  of  Annie's  expression 
touched  her.  She  cast  about  wildly  in  her  own  mind 
for  ways  and  means  of  securing  this  outing  —  this 
rare  pleasure  and  chance  for  her  little  daughter;  yet 
dared  not  encourage  her  to  hope  overmuch  lest  bitter 
disappointment  should  follow. 

"  Artramont  is  a  very  fine  house,  dearest,"  she 
said  wistfully,  "  and  fashionable  people  stay  there. 
Lady  Yorath  herself,  however  kind  —  is  a  very  fash- 
ionable woman  —  and  you  have  so  few  things  — " 

"  I  have  thought  of  all  that,"  said  Annie,  with 
sparkling  eyes.  "  And  if  you  will  but  send  Sophy 
to  me,  we  can  manage  it  all.  Nurse  says  I  shall  be 
lying  down  for  some  time  yet,  because  the  doctor 
thinks  I  have  been  shaken  rather  badly.  I  am 
bruised  all  down  one  side,  you  know.  Well,  Mum- 
mie  dear,  I  have  the  money  I  meant  to  spend  in  Llys- 
dinam  yesterday,  you  know,  and  Sophy  can  take  it 


136  THE  TYRANT 

and  get  me  some  pretty  pink  stuff  and  make  me  a 
wrapper.  Then  I  shall  look  all  right,  Mamma,  and 
there  is  my  new  white  cotton  frock  for  getting  up 
and  coming  away  in.  Sophy  would  put  away  all  her 
own  work  and  get  the  things  for  me,  for  the  honour 
of  the  family,  I  know,"  said  Annie,  proudly. 

But  Mrs.  Kemys,  being  a  little  more  sophisticated 
in  such  matters  than  her  daughter,  was,  it  is  needless 
to  say,  not  inspired  to  much  enthusiasm  by  the  pros- 
pect of  a  pink  wrapper  and  a  new  cotton  frock.  She 
sighed  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Didn't  he  say  how  long  he  would  be  away  ex- 
actly ,"  said  Annie  suddenly,  and  Mrs.  Kemys  was 
obliged  to  acknowledge  that  her  lord  had  not  enlight- 
ened her  on  this  point. 

"  But  he  took  his  portmanteau  as  well  as  his  bag, 
and  I  believe  he  thought  it  possible  he  might  be  de- 
tained," she  said. 

"  You'll  let  me  know  as  soon  as  you  do,  won't  you, 
Mamma?  And  what  can  I  say  to  Lady  Yorath? 
She's  coming  again  this  afternoon." 

"  I  should  like  to  thank  her,  but  perhaps  I  had  bet- 
ter not  until  I  know  what  Papa  means  to  do,"  said 
Mrs.  Kemys.  "  Granny  sent  you  all  the  violets  from 
her  little  frame,  my  darling,  but  they  look  nothing 
beside  that  great  bowl  of  Parma  violets." 

"  But  they  are  far  sweeter,"  said  Annie,  putting 
them  to  her  lips  with  her  usual  ready  graciousness. 
Then  she  returned  to  the  charge. 

"  Oh,  Mamma,  do  you  think  such  a  wonderful 


ANNIE  IN  THE  HOSPITAL        137 

thing  could  possibly  happen  to  me.  To  go  and  pay  a 
real  visit  all  by  myself.  Just  think  that  I  have  never, 
never  been  anywhere  nor  done  anything  so  delight- 
ful !  Couldn't  you  —  I  don't  want  to  be  selfish,  but 
couldn't  you  make  it  happen?  If  I  went  now,  while 
Papa  is  away,  need  you  tell  him  till  he  comes  back?  " 
Her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper.  "  After  all,  what  could 
he  do  ?  He  couldn't  kill  us.  He  could  only  be  — 
dreadful,  and  he  is  often  that  over  nothing  at  all. 
I  don't  see  how  he  could  be  much  worse  if  we  gave 
him  real  cause  to  be  vexed  for  once.  Oh,  Mamma, 
I  know  it  sounds  very  wicked  of  me  —  but  couldn't 
you,  couldn't  you  —  just  for  once?  " 

"  I  thought  of  it,  Annie,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  in  no 
less  furtive  accents.  "  But,  Annie  dear,  if  he  came 
back  and  heard  you  were  at  Artramont,  and  went 
over  there  to  fetch  you  away,  and  made  some  terrible 
scene.  Wouldn't  that  be  worse  than  your  not  going 
there  at  all?  " 

She  had  never  spoken  so  openly  to  her  daughter 
before  on  the  subject  of  her  father's  infirmity  of  tem- 
per, and  Annie  felt  scarcely  less  guilty  than  she  did. 
By  mutual  consent  they  avoided  meeting  each  other's 
eyes. 

"  It  would  be  very  dreadful,"  said  Annie,  beneath 
her  breath.  "  But  no,  Mamma,  I  don't  think  it 
would  be  worse.  They  would  know  it  wasn't  my 
fault."  She  gathered  courage  and  spirit  as  she  pro- 
ceeded. "  And  I  should  have  broken  the  ice  and 
perhaps  have  had  two  or  three  days  —  Paradise.  I 


i38  THE  TYRANT 

am  sure  it  would  be  Paradise  to  stay  with  her.  It 
would  not  be  so  difficult  perhaps  to  make  him  see 
reason  another  time,  if  we  stood  up  to  him  boldly 
once.  Oh,  Mamma,"  said  Annie  with  the  repressed 
impatience  of  decisive  youth  for  its  hesitating  elders. 
"If  you  only  had  a  little  courage, — " 

"  You  all  sing  the  same  song,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys, 
and  she  smiled  rather  sadly.  "  Let  me  wait  and  see 
what  I  hear  from  Papa  to-morrow.  Let  me  have 
the  night  to  think  it  over.  Oh,  my  darling."  She 
knelt  beside  the  bed,  and  pressed  the  little  fair  hand 
that  lay  on  the  coverlet  against  her  thin  cheek  in  a 
sudden  passion  of  feeling.  "  Do  you  think  you  are 
half  as  anxious  that  you  should  have  the  natural 
pleasures  of  your  age  as  I  am  for  you?  If  I  can 
manage  it  by  hook  or  by  crook  you  shall  have  this 
outing.  There,  I  promise  you.  Only  don't  think  of 
it  too  much,  or  you  will  be  excited  and  feverish.  Lie 
still  and  get  well,  like  a  good  child." 

But  Annie  placed  little  faith  in  her  mother's  prom- 
ise, and  the  look  with  which  she  buried  her  face  in 
the  violets  went  to  Annette's  heart. 

She  left  her  daughter  earlier  than  she  had  in- 
tended, in  the  desire  to  avoid  meeting  Lady  Yorath ; 
but  after  all  she  met  her  at  the  very  door  of  the  hos- 
pital. 

The  two  ladies  were  strangers,  although  they  lived 
only  ten  miles  apart,  a  trifling  distance  in  so  scantily 
populated  a  neighbourhood. 

Artramont  had  been  let  during  the  young  lord's 


ANNIE  IN  THE  HOSPITAL         139 

long  minority,  and  his  mother  had  acquired  the 
habit  of  dividing  her  time  between  the  house  in  Lon- 
don and  the  lodge  in  Scotland,  when  she  was  not  in 
Italy,  where  she  possessed  a  villa  of  her  own  upon 
the  Lakes. 

The  tenants  of  Artramont  had  been  an  old  couple, 
who  had  become  attached  to  the  place,  and  when 
one  died,  at  the  age  of  eighty,  the  other,  also  an  oc- 
togenarian, made  a  pathetic  appeal  to  be  allowed  to 
remain  in  the  home  he  had  occupied  for  so  many 
years. 

Even  if  the  offer  had  been  a  less  advantageous  one 
from  a  material  point  of  view,  Lord  Yorath  and  his 
mother  were  the  last  persons  in  the  world  who  would 
have  been  inclined  to  resist  it  under  the  circum- 
stances. They  left  the  old  gentleman  undisturbed 
in  his  tenancy  during  the  few  years  which  remained 
to  him,  and,  when  he  died,  came  down  to  take  pos- 
session and  continued  the  good  works  which  had  been 
started  and  maintained  by  the  old  couple,  who  had 
from  first  to  last  proved  themselves  benefactors  to 
the  neighbourhood,  and  were  universally  mourned. 

The  owners  felt  themselves  strangers,  during  their 
few  weeks'  annual  residence  in  the  home  from  which 
they  had  so  long  been  exiled;  but  they  became  speedily 
popular  in  their  turn.  Lord  Yorath  built  the  cot- 
tage hospital,  and  improved  the  housing  of  the  la- 
bourers on  his  estate;  Lady  Yorath  diligently  re- 
turned the  calls  of  her  country  neighbours,  and,  if 
she  occasionally  sighed  with  relief  when  she  found 


1 40  THE  TYRANT 

them  absent  from  home,  she  showed  every  inclina- 
tion to  be  hospitable  in  her  own  house,  and  gave  din- 
ners, garden  parties,  village  fetes  and  school-treats 
without  stint,  that  no  one,  high  or  low,  should  lack 
entertainment. 

Lady  Yorath  and  Mrs.  Kemys  had  missed  each 
other  in  calling,  and  Richard  Kemys  had  declined 
to  permit  his  wife  and  daughter  to  take  part  in  any 
of  the  festivities  organized  by  the  newly  returned 
owners  of  Artramont.  But  the  two  ladies,  now 
meeting  for  the  first  time,  recognized  each  other  in- 
stinctively. 

"  I  hope  you're  not  very  angry  with  us,"  said 
Lady  Yorath,  stretching  out  both  hands.  "If  you 
could  only  see  into  our  hearts  and  realise  how 
dreadfully  sorry  we  are,  for  your  pretty  daughter's 
broken  arm  and  all  the  anxiety  we  have  unwittingly 
caused.  The  only  comfort  is  that  her  dear,  sweet, 
lovely  face  has  not  even  a  scratch  upon  it.  But  I 
should  be  very  angry  all  the  same  if  I  were  you." 

Her  expression  was  pathetic,  half  in  fun,  and  half 
in  earnest,  and  Mrs.  Kemys  realized  that  Annie  was 
right  and  that  Lady  Yorath,  who  was  nevertheless 
some  years  her  senior,  looked  younger  than  herself. 

She  was  very  tall,  almost  statuesque,  but  her  fig- 
ure was  so  beautifully  proportioned  that  her  height 
only  added  to  the  grace  and  dignity  of  her  carriage. 
She  wore  a  walking  dress  of  violet  cloth,  exquisitely 
cut  but  severely  plain,  and  a  purple  toque  rested  upon 
her  dark,  beautifully-dressed  hair. 


ANNIE  IN  THE  HOSPITAL       141 

From  his  mother  Lord  Yorath  had  evidently  in- 
herited his  marked  aquiline  features,  dark  colouring 
and  bright  hazel  eyes,  but  in  her  all  these  traits  were 
softened  into  feminine  beauty.  Were  the  charms 
ever  so  slightly  heightened  by  art?  Or  was  it  only 
that  she  possessed  the  indefinable  gift  bestowed  upon 
the  favoured  few,  of  knowing  exactly  what  became 
both  the  occasion  and  herself? 

Mrs.  Kemys  was  too  inexperienced  to  know,  but 
the  genuine  friendliness,  the  appealing  warmth  of 
the  greeting  dispelled  her  usual  nervousness. 
"  How  could  I  be  angry?  It  is  merciful  it  was  no 
worse.  Annie  is  overcome  by  your  kindness,"  she 
said. 

Lady  Yorath  in  turn  was  attracted  by  the  unaf- 
fected gentleness  of  poor  Mrs.  Kemys.  She  ob- 
served every  detail  of  the  shabby  toilette,  and  its 
anxious,  almost  threadbare  decency;  even  as  she  ob- 
served the  refinement  and  simplicity  of  the  wearer. 

"Why  haven't  we  met?"  she  said  impulsively. 
"  Why  has  it  been  reserved  for  this  dreadful  acci- 
dent to  bring  us  together,  so  that  I  and  my  son  must 
appear  to  you  in  a  most  unfavourable  light?  Oh, 
I  know  I  hadn't  really  anything  to  do  with  it,  but 
we  are  so  much  one  that  I  always  take  his  sins  on 
my  own  soul,  though  God  forbid  he  should  do  the 
same  by  me/'  She  laughed  merrily.  "  He  said 
you  promised  to  let  us  do  everything  in  our  power 
to  make  up  for  it,  and  to  that  promise  I  mean  to 
hold  you,  more  especially  now  I  have  seen  her! 


i42  THE  TYRANT 

You'll  let  your  pretty  child  come  over  to  me,  to  be 
nursed  and  petted,  won't  you?  If  you  knew  how 
I  have  longed  all  my  life  for  a  daughter  —  I  that 
am  left  alone  for  months  and  months  when  Austen 
goes  off  after  his  horrid  big  game  shooting  from 
which  I  never  expect  to  see  him  return  alive." 

Her  quick  words  poured  themselves  forth  in  a 
voice  expressive  of  as  rapid  changes  of  feeling. 

"  Do  let  me  have  her,"  said  Lady  Yorath,  coax- 
ingly,  and  Mrs.  Kemys  could  only  stammer  a  word 
or  two  in  reply,  of  her  being  very  glad  —  but  her 
father's  absence  —  Annie  had  never  been  away  from 
home  —  etc.  etc. 

"  Oh  why  need  we  tell  him  until  it's  a  fait  accom- 
pli? "  said  Lady  Yorath,  with  an  understanding  that 
seemed  almost  uncanny  to  Annette.  "  Men  always 
make  difficulties.  Even  the  doctor  couldn't  see  how 
she  was  to  be  moved  to  Artramont  for  the  present, 
though  he  was  obliged  to  confess  that  nothing  could 
be  easier  after  I  had  shown  him  the  way.  She  must 
come,  and  you,  too,  if  you  will." 

"  Oh,  1 1  I  could  not  leave  home !  I  have  never 
left  home  except  for  a  few  days'  shopping  in  London 
now  and  again,  for  twenty  years,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys, 
and  she  laughed  at  the  look  of  horror  which  Lady 
Yorath,  like  an  alarmed  child,  turned  upon  her, 
though  it  gave  place  instantly  to  sympathetic  amuse- 
ment. 

"  Oh,  how  I  envy  you.  We  have  lived  the  lives 
of  vagrants"  she  said  vehemently,  and  really  be- 


ANNIE  IN  THE  HOSPITAL        143 

lieved  for  the  moment  that  she  regretted  her  exist- 
ence of  constant  change  and  interest.  "  I  told 
Austen  it  was  peace  and  joy  to  be  really  settled  at 
last,  and  Artramont  is  his  home  and  will  be  mine 
until  he  takes  unto  himself  a  wife."  Again  the 
merry  dark  eyes  became  pathetic.  "  You  know  he 
really  ought  to  marry,"  she  said  seriously. 

Poor  Mrs.  Kemys  blushed  guiltily,  almost  trem- 
bling, as  though  the  quick  glance  of  Lord  Yorath's 
mother  had  pierced  her  very  soul;  but  she  was  ha- 
bitually self-controlled,  and  did  not  betray  herself 
other  than  by  that  faint  change  of  colour. 

"  Certainly  he  ought  to  marry,"  she  said,  in  the 
soft  slow  tones  that  contrasted  so  curiously  with  Lady 
Yorath's  excessive  quickness. 

As  vivid  a  contrast  was  presented  by  the  two  ve- 
hicles drawn  up  at  the  door  of  the  hospital.  The 
neat  green,  well-appointed  motor  brougham,  with  its 
coroneted  door,  and  smart  driver  and  attendant,  and 
the  shabby  open  landau,  wth  its  half  obliterated 
crest,  worn  lining  and  mended  harness,  and  the  old 
coachman  in  faded  livery  flicking  at  the  ancient 
horses,  who  stood  with  drooping  heads  and  their 
aged  legs  tucked  under  them. 

"  All  of  a  bunch,"  as  he  said  resentfully  to  him- 
self, when  he  perceived  her  ladyship's  bright  eyes 
glancing  them  over;  but  no  amount  of  flicking  would 
make  those  overworked  quadrupeds  comport  them- 
selves with  dignity. 

Yet  the  coachman,  who  was  a  native  of  Llysdi- 


144  THE  TYRANT, 

nam,  comforted  himself,  like  old  Mrs.  Kemys,  with 
the  reflection  that  his  people  had  been  lords  of  the 
manor  of  Nantgwilt  when  Lord  Yorath's  grand- 
father had  been  trudging  through  the  forest  shoul- 
dering his  pick,  alongside  of  his  mates,  whose  grand- 
sons trudged  there  to  this  day.  He  cast  glances  of 
contempt  upon  the  spick  and  span  turn-out  of  her 
ladyship's  London  servants,  who  did  not  know  their 
employer's  family  history  any  more  than  they  had 
ever  heard  of  Kemys  of  Nantgwilt,  and  who  would 
not  have  cared  if  they  had  known,  being  much  con- 
cerned with  the  present,  and  utterly  indifferent  to 
the  past. 

Mrs.  Kemys  listened  almost  absently  while  Lady 
Yorath  poured  forth  her  plans  for  the  removal  of 
Annie  from  the  hospital  and  her  instalment,  with  a 
maid,  and  if  necessary  a  nurse  in  charge,  at  Artra- 
mont ;  her  own  mind  was  busy  with  possibilities. 

Now  that  she  saw  and  recognised  the  charming 
personality  of  Lord  Yorath's  mother,  she  perceived 
that  many  difficulties  might  be  smoothed  away.  She 
would  not  have  liked,  poor  lady,  to  mention  the  sub- 
ject of  Annie's  meagre  equipment  for  visiting  to  any 
of  her  neighbours  at  Nantgwilt;  and  would  rather 
have  died  than  appear  conscious  of  any  deficiencies 
before  old  Mrs.  Eyewater,  for  instance,  of  whose 
secret  criticisms  the  Squire's  wife  was  often  ruefully 
aware,  more  from  that  divining  instinct  possessed  by 
the  ultra-sensitive  than  from  actual  hearsay,  though 
that  too  had  played  its  part  in  the  matter. 


ANNIE  IN  THE  HOSPITAL        145 

When  Annie  called  at  the  Red  House  she  knew 
very  well  that  a  little  chorus  of  comment  followed 
her  departure,  and  that  she  would  be  criticised  as  she 
had  been  scrutinized,  from  top  to  toe,  by  her  old 
neighbour. 

"  Did  you  see  her  hat?  The  same  she  wore  last 
summer,  but  poor  Sophy  has  evidently  had  to  re-trim 
it." 

"  I  wonder  Mrs.  Kemys  cares  to  let  Annie  be  seen 
in  such  short  skirts.  That  pink  cotton  has  shrunk 
in  the  wash  again.  I  wonder  how  often  it  has  been 
washed." 

"  I'm  sure  her  mended  shoes  and  darned  stock- 
ings are  not  so  ornamental  that  she  need  show  so 
much  of  them." 

Yet,  if  they  had  been  questioned  on  the  subject, 
they  would  have  answered  resentfully,  and  even  with 
sincerity  that  they  loved  Annie  Kemys,  and  admired 
her,  and  only  wished  to  see  her  dressed  in  accord- 
ance with  her  station. 

Mrs.  Kemys  realized  that  Lady  Yorath's  admi- 
ration of  Annie,  freely  expressed,  was  of  a  different 
quality.  She  also  realized  how  easy  it  would  be  to 
confide  in  one  who  was  too  well  bred,  and  conse- 
quently too  simple,  not  to  receive  such  a  confidence 
as  frankly  as  it  was  made;  and  to  ask  if  they  were 
to  be  alone,  and  whether  in  that  case  it  would  not 
matter  that  Annie  possessed  only  the  wardrobe  of  a 
little  country  girl  who  had  never  paid  a  visit  in  her 
life. 


i46  THE  TYRANT, 

Annie's  mother  knew  intuitively  that  Lady  Yo- 
rath  was  absolutely  devoid  of  the  middle-class  in- 
stinct of  criticism,  and  vulgar  habit  of  appraising  hu- 
man beings  by  their  possessions  rather  than  by  their 
personal  attributes;  that  she  would,  figuratively 
speaking,  shrug  her  shoulders  at  bores  and  mediocri- 
ties in  silk  attire,  and  turn  with  her  most  gracious 
smile  to  welcome  wit  and  beauty  and  good  breeding 
in  rags. 

"  Then  it  is  settled,  and  you'll  let  her  come  to  us 
if  you  possibly  can,  and  she  won't  mind  our  being 
practically  alone,  for  we  have  no  Easter  party  this 
year.  Only  an  old  fogey  or  two  to  keep  me  com- 
pany," said  Lady  Yorath,  thus  unconsciously  settling 
the  question  in  the  other's  mind. 

Mrs.  Kemys  pleaded  for  time  to  write  and  con- 
sult her  husband  before  giving  a  decisive  answer 
to  the  kind  invitation  thus  warmly  pressed  upon  her ; 
but  it  was  for  two  days'  respite  to  enable  her  to  make 
up  her  own  mind,  that  Annette  was  really  pleading. 


CHAPTER  IX 

RICHARD   IN   LONDON 

RICHARD  KEMYS  looked  from  the  windows  of  the 
train  upon  the  flying  landscape ;  at  the  hilly  orchards, 
where  primroses  dotted  the  rough  pasture,  broken 
up  by  the  hoofs  of  shaggy  ponies  and  bony  cart- 
horses, and  flecked  with  the  spring  sunshine;  at  the 
long  shadows  falling  from  the  budding  trees  across 
the  wet  meadows ;  at  thatched  roofs  glistening  in  the 
low  ruddy  golden  light  of  the  afternoon,  and  at  the 
pink  peach  and  snowy  plum  flowering  gaily  in  cot- 
tage gardens. 

The  brightness  of  the  day  could  not  dispel  his  set- 
tled gloom.  He  smoked  and  thought  and  thought 
and  smoked,  and  the  gist  of  all  his  reflections  was 
that  it  was  very  hard  that  he,  of  all  men,  who  had 
lived  such  a  careful,  temperate  life,  should  thus  be 
threatened  with  sudden  extinction  through  no  fault 
of  his  own. 

He  told  himself  that  his  principal  object  in  going 
to  town  was  to  see  his  lawyer  concerning  the  making 
of  a  new  will ;  but  his  intention  to  consult  a  specialist 
lurked  at  the  back  of  his  mind  all  the  while.  He 
tried  to  divert  his  thoughts  by  making  rough  notes 
in  his  pocket  book  of  the  instructions  he  proposed  to 

147 


i48  THE  TYRANT 

give  Mr.  Joavan;  but  the  more  contingencies  he  en- 
deavoured to  provide  against  the  more  complicated 
became  the  notes,  and  growing  impatient,  he  pres- 
ently obliterated  them  in  a  rage,  and  put  the  note- 
book back  in  his  pocket 

He  found  oblivion  at  length  in  snatches  of  un- 
easy slumber,  which  lasted  until  his  arrival  at  Pad- 
dington. 

It  was  his  custom  to  put  up  at  the  Great  Western 
Hotel,  and  since  it  was  too  late,  when  he  arrived 
there,  either  to  seek  his  lawyer  or  to  go  to  his  of- 
fice, he  went  straight  into  the  coffee-room,  and  asked 
for  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  Post  Office  directory. 

From  the  directory  he  went  to  the  telephone,  and 
thence  to  the  reading-room,  where  he  wrote  a  letter 
and  marked  the  envelope  urgent. 

The  letter  written,  it  seemed  to  become  impera- 
tively necessary  that  it  should  be  delivered  by  hand, 
and  without  delay. 

He  looked  at  the  clock  —  hesitated  —  looked  at 
the  address  on  the  envelope  which  he  had  just  writ- 
ten, and  took  up  his  hat. 

"  I  have  nothing  on  earth  to  do,"  said  Mr.  Kemys, 
as  though  apologising  to  himself,  "  and  the  walk 
will  be  good  for  me." 

After  this  he  appeared  to  abandon  all  pretence  to 
indifference,  though  he  had  no  idea  how  fast  he  was 
walking. 

A  middle-aged  man,  with  a  white  face,  mopping 


RICHARD  IN  LONDON  149 

his  brow  and  breathing  hard,  presently  delivered  a 
letter  to  a  servant  at  the  door  of  a  gloomy  house  in 
Harley  Street ;  and  said  he  would  wait  for  an  answer. 

He  refused  to  enter  the  house,  and  remained  on 
the  steps,  telling  himself  that  the  weather  was  too 
warm  for  walking  in  stifling,  airless,  dusty  London 
streets,  and  that  he  should  return  to  the  hotel  in  a 
hansom. 

After  what  seemed  an  interminable  delay,  a  note 
was  handed  to  him.  He  tore  it  open  without  wait- 
ing for  the  servant  to  shut  the  door.  It  was  an  early 
appointment  for  the  following  morning. 

The  impatience  of  Richard  Kemys  had  always 
been  abnormal,  and  his  promptness  in  seizing  an  op- 
portunity had  once  made  him  suddenly  a  rich  man. 
The  letter  proved  that  the  specialist  was  at  home. 

He  thought  of  the  miseries  of  suspense  and  rest- 
lessness he  had  endured  during  his  journey  to  Lon- 
don, and  reflected  that  the  suspense  and  restlessness 
of  the  coming  night  would  probably  transcend  these 
miseries. 

"  The  doctor  sees  no  one  without  a  special  ap- 
pointment, sir,"  said  the  maid,  reading  the  expres- 
sion on  the  caller's  face,  and  being  unacquainted  with 
Richard  Kemys,  she  steeled  her  heart  in  preparation 
for  seeing  him  turn  dejectedly  away. 

Ten  minutes  later  it  was  the  maid  who  felt  de- 
jected; for  she  had  been  bullied  by  the  visitor,  and 
snubbed  by  her  master,  who  was  now  nevertheless 
interviewing  his  insistent  patient  in  the  consulting 


1 50  THE  TYRANT 

room.  Richard  Kemys  had  obtained  his  own  way 
without  even  resorting  to  that  bribery  which  might 
have  consoled  his  vanquished  opponent. 

As  he  left  Harley  Street  he  told  himself  that  his 
visit  had  been  unsatisfactory,  but  his  expression  and 
carriage  betrayed  a  certain  relief  from  suspense;  hope 
lent  a  sparkle  to  his  steel  blue  eyes,  and  determination 
a  yet  straighter  and  more  obstinate  line  to  his  hand- 
some mouth. 

"  He  won't  say  it  wasn't  angina  pectoris,  in  fact 
he  evidently  thinks  it  was;  in  spite  of  his  jargon 
about  true  angina  pectoris  being  rare  at  my  age. 
What  does  it  matter  to  me  whether  it's  rare  or  com- 
mon if  I've  got  it?  And  though  he's  obliged  to  ad- 
mit he  couldn't  find  organic  disease  yet  he  hedges 
by  saying  that  even  a  skilled  physician  can't  diagnose 
a  case  like  mine  with  certainty,  and  prates  about  it 
being  more  a  disease  of  the  arteries  than  the  heart. 
I  wish  to  God  he'd  tell  me  something  definite. 
Either  that  I'm  to  get  well  or  die,  and  be  done  with 
it,  instead  of  threatening  me  with  an  invalid  life  and 
talking  of  my  nerves.  It's  the  first  time  I  ever  heard 
I  suffered  from  nerves.  The  fact  is,  with  all  their 
science  they  know  precious  little  about  it  all,  and  he's 
told  me  no  more  than  that  young  fellow  in  the  road 
told  me  for  nothing." 

For  all  this  he  was  resolved  to  follow  the  doctor's 
directions  implicitly,  and  the  more  especially  when 
they  coincided  with  the  advice  bestowed  upon  him 
gratis  by  the  young  medical  student. 


RICHARD  IN  LONDON  151 

He  had  begun  by  informing  the  specialist  that  he 
had  never  had  the  slightest  cause  to  suspect  that  his 
health  was  anything  but  perfect;  but  gradually  he 
had  found  himself  admitting  increasing  breathless- 
ness  after  exertion,  restlessness  at  night,  and  a  be- 
setting nervous  irritability,  which  indeed  had  be- 
trayed itself  so  frequently  during  his  cross-examina- 
tion that  the  doctor  might  have  omitted  this  ques- 
tion. In  fact,  he  was  surprised  and  chagrined  to 
discover  that  Nature  had  given  him  many  warnings 
which  he  had  altogether  ignored  or  misunderstood. 

Skilfully  the  doctor  extracted  a  good  deal  of  in- 
formation, before  he  delivered  the  -guarded  and 
rather  contradictory  opinions  which  had  so  much 
discontented  his  patient. 

He  prescribed  the  remedies  to  be  kept  always  at 
hand  in  case  the  attack  should  be  renewed,  and  was 
emphatic  regarding  the  absolute  necessity  of  main- 
taining a  perfect  tranquillity  of  mind  and  body,  but 
he  offered  besides  another  suggestion  which  rather 
recommended  itself  to  Richard  Kemys. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  doctor,  soothingly,  u  no 
doubt  you  are  right.  When  a  man  has,  as  you  say, 
a  business  in  London  and  an  estate  in  the  country 
to  look  after,  and  grown-up  sons  and  daughters  to 
plague  him  into  the  bargain,  it's  practically  impos- 
sible to  be  free  from  worry.  The  question  is  — 
couldn't  you  get  right  away  from  it  all?  If  you're 
a  good  sailor  and  like  the  sea  —  for  instance  —  why 
not  take  a  voyage  round  the  world?  Your  illness 


i52  THE  TYRANT 

is  largely  nervous.  Go  away  and  stop  away  until 
you've  forgotten  your  worries  and  calmed  your 
nerves.  Of  course  you  wouldn't  go  alone  —  take 
your  wife  with  you  —  or  a  sympathetic  friend  — ?  " 
said  the  doctor,  watching  him.  "  You  prefer  to  go 
alone,  eh?" 

"  Of  course  I  should  prefer  it  —  if  I  went  at  all," 
growled  Mr.  Kemys. 

The  notion  that  he  could  be  troubled  with  nerves 
and  the  mention  of  a  sympathetic  friend  vaguely  an- 
noyed him ;  but  on  the  whole  his  mind  fastened  hope- 
fully upon  the  scheme.  A  long  voyage  would  give 
him  the  opportunity  of  regaining  his  mental  and 
physical  balance,  which  he  was  aware  had  been  con- 
siderably shaken  by  his  recent  alarming  experience. 
And  the  prospect  of  throwing  off  his  domestic  cares 
for  a  while  was  not  an  unpleasant  one.  His  sensa- 
tions resembled  those  of  the  prisoner  to  whom  after 
many  years  the  idea  of  trying  to  escape  occurred 
quite  suddenly,  and  who  then  merely  opened  the  door 
of  his  ill-guarded  gaol  and  walked  out  into  freedom. 
Richard  Kemys  had  enjoyed  many  sea-trips  as  a 
young  man,  when  his  business  had  necessitated  con- 
stant voyages  to  Sweden,  but  it  had  not  occurred  to 
him  since  he  had  become  rich,  to  extend  his  acquaint- 
ance with  travelling  nor  to  indulge  in  a  long  holiday. 

The  doctor's  recommendation  of  a  companion 
troubled  him  a  little;  he  thought  it  sounded  slightly 
ominous ;  as  though  he  thought  it  possible  his  patient 


RICHARD  IN  LONDON  153 

might  die  on  the  voyage.     But  he  dismissed  this  no- 
tion from  his  mind  as  quickly  as  possible. 

"  I'll  think  it  over.  It's  not  a  bad  idea.  Per- 
haps I'll  go,"  he  said  ungraciously  to  his  adviser. 

He  stopped  at  a  chemist  to  have  the  doctor's  pre- 
scription made  up;  getting  carefully  and  slowly  in 
and  out  of  the  hansom,  mindful  of  the  orders  he  had 
received  to  avoid  sudden  exertion  or  violent  move- 
ments ;  and  as  soon  as  he  returned  to  the  hotel  busied 
himself  by  looking  through  the  P.  &  O.  and  other 
mail  companies'  advertisements  and  time-tables  for 
voyages  round  the  world. 

His  plans  occupied  him  throughout  his  frugal  din- 
ner, and  during  the  long  dull  evening  which  fol- 
lowed; and  kept  him  awake  when  he  went  to  bed. 
He  had  thought  for  a  moment  of  telephoning  to 
Rodric,  and  bidding  him  come  round  to  dine  with 
him  after  all,  but  a  moment's  reflection  decided  him 
to  dismiss  the  idea.  He  had  written  to  his  son  be- 
fore leaving  home,  to  express  his  intentions,  and  there 
was  no  more  to  be  said.  An  interview  with  Roddy 
would  be  an  agitating  one,  as  he  would  almost  cer- 
tainly be  roused  to  that  anger  which  the  doctor  had 
warned  him  was  the  emotion  of  all  others  to  be 
shunned. 

He  even  began  to  doubt  the  advisability  of  visit- 
ing his  lawyer  on  the  morrow.  Old  Joavan  would 
be  almost  sure  to  argue  with  him  on  the  subject  of 


i54  THE  TYRANT 

his  decision  to  alter  his  will;  or  irritate  him  by  rais- 
ing unforeseen  difficulties  in  the  way  of  carrying  out 
his  intentions. 

It  might  be  simpler  to  draw  up  a  short  temporary 
will  for  himself  on  half  a  sheet  of  notepaper,  leaving 
all  his  possessions  in  trust  for  little  Corney,  since 
his  marriage  settlement  provided  for  his  wife,  and 
gave  her  power  of  appointment  over  a  considerable 
sum  of  money,  in  favour  of  her  sons  and  daughters, 
in  such  proportions  as  she  chose. 

"  Why  should  he  be  bound  by  any  absurd  conven- 
tions and  prejudices  about  eldest  sons?  Why 
should  he  not  choose  the  son  he  preferred  to  be  his 
heir?"  said  Richard  Kemys  to  himself.  He  tossed 
and  turned  on  his  pillow,  sleepless,  while  a  little 
army  of  thoughts  marched  buzzing  across  his  brain 
in  the  darkness. 

Corney  is  a  fine  little  fellow,  and  a  third  son,  the 
same  as  I  was.  Of  all  my  sons  he  is  the  only  one 
that  takes  after  me,  as  old  Sharman  and  my  mother 
have  said  many  a  time,  who  knew  me  best  at  that 
age.  He  would  never  irritate  me  as  his  brothers 
do.  They  take  a  pleasure  in  irritating  me,  it's  my 
belief,  Roddy  looking  at  me  just  as  old  Colonel 
Myllon  used  to  look  at  me,  with  the  same  confounded 
touch-me-not  air  that  I  always  hated ;  and  his  grand- 
father's features  as  well  as  his  expression,  by  Jove. 
And  Courtenay  a  prig  and  a  bookworm  that  will 
never  be  fit  for  anything  but  a  parson.  Why  should 
I  leave  my  money  to  them,  or  my  estate  for  that  mat- 


RICHARD  IN  LONDON  155 

ter,  so  long  as  it's  a  Kemys  that  has  it?  I've  paid 
for  Nantgwilt.  My  money  cleared  off  the  mort- 
gages and  set  it  free.  A  man  has  the  right  to  do 
what  he  will  with  his  own;  and  a  long  minority 
would  be  a  capital  thing  for  the  estate  if—-" 

He  left  his  sentence  unfinished,  but  the  more  he 
considered  his  scheme  the  more  he  liked  it.  It 
amused  him  grimly  to  imagine  old  Joavan's  chagrin 
when  the  lengthy  testament  to  which  he  had  given 
so  much  thought  and  attention  should  be  produced 
only  to  be  superseded  by  half  a  sheet  of  hotel  note- 
paper.  There  was  a  curious  kink  in  Richard's  brain 
which  made  him  glad  to  outwit  the  very  man  for 
whose  expert  advice  he  was  paying,  and  of  whose  wis- 
dom and  honesty  he  had  long  been  assured. 

He  was  no  less  assured  of  the  worth  of  John  Bond, 
the  manager  of  his  business,  whom  he  determined  to 
appoint  as  one  of  his  trustees,  while  the  other,  he  de- 
cided, with  a  chuckle,  should  be  old  Turley  of  Llys- 
dinam,  who  had  the  business  of  the  Nantgwilt  es- 
tates at  his  fingers'  ends. 

"  He  won't  refuse  to  act,  if  only  for  Annette's 
sake,  and  because  he  was  devoted  to  my  father  and 
hers,"  thought  Richard,  "  and  I'd  trust  him  with  un- 
told gold,  though  I  wouldn't  have  him  meddling  with 
my  affairs  when  I  succeeded.  It  will  be  a  sell  for 
Machon  to  find  old  Turley  put  back  again.  I  don't 
trust  Machon  a  yard;  he's  no  class,  and  considered 
as  a  lawyer,  he's  little  better  than  a  fool,  but  he  does 
what  he's  told,  and  that  suited  me  better  than  getting 


i56  THE  TYRANT 

advice  and  sermons  from  old  Turley.  But  he  won't 
be  able  to  play  any  tricks  with  Turley,  who'll  have 
every  single  document  out  of  him  the  day  he  finds 
himself  once  more  lawyer  to  Kemys  of  Nantgwilt  — 
or  know  the  reason  why." 

The  thought  of  Machon's  discomfiture  also 
pleased  him,  with  perhaps  more  reason,  for  the  man's 
incompetence  and  stupidity  had  roused  his  contempt 
and  fury  a  thousand  times  so  that  only  his  native 
obstinacy  had  deterred  him  from  carrying  his  country 
affairs  back  to  the  family  solicitor. 

He  was  so  much  soothed  and  amused  by  his  in- 
genious schemes  for  the  final  disposition  of  his  affairs 
that  in  some  odd  way  he  found  himself  contemplat- 
ing the  prospect  of  his  own  demise  with  more 
equanimity. 

"  After  all,"  he  thought  with  dismal  philosophy, 
"  it's  got  to  be  faced  sooner  or  later,  and  if  it's  to  be 
a  few  years  sooner  — "  and  again  he  left  the  sentence 
unfinished. 

He  had  enjoined  secrecy  upon  the  doctor  as  he  had 
enjoined  it  upon  the  medical  student,  and  his  letter 
to  his  wife  the  next  morning,  mentioning  the  possi- 
bility of  his  departure  from  England,  did  not  contain 
a  single  reference  to  his  illness. 

He  said  to  himself  that  pity  was  the  last  thing  he 
desired,  and  that  if  he  hinted  that  his  health  were 
ever  so  slightly  affected  she  would  insist  upon  the 
farewell  scene  which  of  all  things  he  desired  to  avoid. 


RICHARD  IN  LONDON  157 

He  never  for  a  moment  entertained  the  possibility 
of  taking  her  with  him ;  of  recent  years  she  had  sel- 
dom left  Llysdinam,  even  for  the  shopping  expedi- 
tion to  London  which  had  once  been  her  greatest 
pleasure;  with  increasing  expenses  Richard  Kemys 
had  shown  increasing  parsimony,  and  thus,  since  her 
sons  had  grown  up,  Annette  had  remained  at  home. 

The  thought  that  her  companionship  might  make 
the  voyage  more  agreeable,  never  even  entered  her 
husband's  mind;  far  less  the  thought  that  she  might 
enjoy  such  a  break  in  her  monotonous  existence. 

Though  he  despised  her  capacities,  as  men  of  his 
calibre  often  despise  the  capacities  of  women,  yet 
he  relied  upon  her  and  upon  her  alone  to  carry  out 
during  his  absence  every  detail  of  the  regime  he  had 
established  at  Nantgwilt,  and  it  was  to  her  clear  head 
and  quiet  good  sense  as  well  as  to  her  devotion  to 
himself  and  his  interests  that  he  unconsciously 
trusted,  when  he  chose  to  leave  her,  rather  than  his 
man  of  business,  in  charge  at  Llanon. 

"  Dear  Annette,"  he  wrote,  in  his  usual  business- 
like fashion,  "  I  shall  not  be  back  as  soon  as  I  ex- 
pected, in  fact  there  is  a  possibility  of  my  being 
obliged  to  be  away  for  some  time.  I  may  establish 
a  branch  of  my  business  in  New  Zealand.  This 
would  involve  a  trip  to  the  spot,  and  I  don't  see  why 
John  Bond  should  take  so  long  a  holiday  when  I 
have  nothing  to  do  just  now,  and  could  as  easily  go 
myself.  Say  nothing  of  this  however  for  the  present, 


THE  TYRANT 

as  the  matter  is  not  absolutely  decided.  If  I  go  I 
will  open  a  small  account  for  you  at  the  bank  in 
Llysdinam,  so  that  you  can  pay  the  monthly  bills  and 
wages  by  cheque. 

"  I  shall  also  send  a  line  to  Pugh  telling  him  of 
course  to  look  after  everything  as  usual  and  to  re- 
port to  you  instead  of  to  me.  You'll  write  down  all 
his  reports  and  keep  his  accounts  and  your  own  so 
that  I  shall  know  exactly  where  I  am  when  I  return. 
If  you  are  in  any  difficulty  you  can  go,  as  you  always 
do,  to  my  mother.  She  gets  old  Turley's  advice  for 
nothing  and  can  pass  it  on  to  you.  Of  course  every- 
thing will  go  on  exactly  as  usual  and  Corney  go  to 
school  as  arranged,  after  the  Easter  holidays.  It 
would  be  far  better  if  Manuel  went  too  instead  of 
being  coddled  up  at  home,  but  he  can  wait  till  he's 
eight  as  you  make  such  a  point  of  it. 

"  I  haven't  seen  Roddy  and  don't  mean  to,  as  I'm 
very  busy,  and  he  can  write  me  his  intentions  in 
answer  to  the  letter  I  wrote  him  before  leaving  home, 
but  I'm  quite  aware  he  means  to  go  whether  I  wish 
it  or  not,  and  I  shall  act  accordingly. 

"I  am  writing  to  tell  Machon  to  take  up  the 
affair  of  the  damages  for  the  dog-cart — "  then  he 
paused,  and  after  a  moment's  thought,  deliberately 
drew  his  pen  through  the  lines,  knitting  his  heavy 
brows  together  in  a  frown  as  he  did  so. 

It  would  have  been  a  pleasure  to  bring  an  action, 
and  obtain  damages  from  that  insolent  fellow  — 


RICHARD  IN  LONDON  159 

his  blue  eyes  flashed  —  but  unless  he  could  attend  to 
the  matter  himself  it  had  better  be  left  alone. 
Machon  was  such  a  fool  that  he  would  mismanage 
the  case  from  start  to  finish.  And  on  no  account 
must  he  be  there  himself,  even  if  his  plans  had  per- 
mitted of  the  delay,  for  he  had  some  experience  of 
the  excitement  the  fighting  of  such  cases  may  entail 
upon  the  combatants.  There  was  also  another  ob- 
stacle: if  during  his  absence  that  knowing  young 
medical  student  appeared  as  a  witness,  as  he  had 
threatened,  for  Lord  Yorath,  the  fact  of  his  own 
seizure  might  come  out  in  court.  Richard  Kemys 
determined  fiercely  that  he  would  keep  his  secret  to 
himself;  he  had  a  morbid  horror  of  the  possibility 
that  he  could  be  regarded  as  an  object  of  pity;  nor 
could  he  endure  the  thought  of  the  alarmed  toler- 
ance with  which  his  neighbours  and  his  family  would 
suffer  his  outbursts  if  they  knew  that  at  any  moment 
he  might  drop  down  dead  in  their  midst. 

"  On  second  thoughts,"  he  wrote,  "  if  I  do  go  to 
New  Zealand  there  wouldn't  be  the  slightest  use  in 
bringing  any  action,  for  Machon  is  utterably  incapa- 
ble of  managing  it  without  me,  even  if  my  presence 
otherwise  could  be  dispensed  with.  I  shall  leave  the 
whole  thing  in  abeyance  until  my  return.  Probably 
I  shall  be  able  to  let  you  know  to-morrow  what  I  de- 
cide to  do,  but  I  might  be  hurried  at  the  last  moment 
so  it  is  safest  to  write  these  details  now. 

"  The  weather  is  muggy  and  warm.     I'm  off  to 


160  THE  TYRANT 

King  William  Street;  you'd  better  address  there  as 
I  may  sleep  at  the  office  to-night,  and  shall  any  way 
be  there  all  to-morrow. 

"  Your  affectionate  husband, 

"  RICHARD  KEMYS." 

This  document  cost  him  neither  pains  nor  thought, 
and  was  scribbled  off  at  a  great  rate,  but  the  drawing 
up  of  his  will  upon  the  half  sheet  of  note-paper  was  a 
different  matter.  It  was  presently  accomplished, 
however,  with  a  clearness  and  conciseness  that  roused 
his  own  admiration,  and  having  made  two  copies  in 
his  distinct  strong  writing,  he  rang  and  asked  for  the 
manager  and  a  clerk  to  witness  his  signature.  He 
then  enclosed  the  signed  and  attested  sheet  in  a 
sealed  envelope,  and  forwarded  it  to  Mr.  Joavan. 
with  instructions  that  it  was  to  be  opened  in  the 
event  of  his  death,  and  that  a  copy  of  its  contents 
would  be  sent  to  his  wife. 

Then  he  rose  and  stretched  himself,  and  looked  out 
of  the  window  into  the  crowded  street  of  hurrying 
traffic  and  foot-passengers.  He  observed  a  group 
of  flower  girls,  laughing  and  talking  in  a  corner; 
they  were  laden  with  baskets  of  tulips,  hyacinths, 
wallflowers,  primroses  and  violets  and  the  gay 
colours  of  the  spring  blossoms  carried  his  thoughts 
away  from  the  motley  crowd  of  passing  and  re-pass- 
ing human  beings  to  his  own  sunny  quiet  old-world 
garden  at  Llanon.  Perhaps  he  would  never  walk 
those  familiar  ways  again.  He  was  conscious  of  a 


RICHARD  IN  LONDON  161 

pang  of  strange  grief.  It  was  as  though  his  own 
sorrow  touched  his  unseeing  eyes  and  opened  them 
suddenly  to  the  sorrow  of  all  the  world,  to  all  the 
sadness  of  the  passing  of  time,  and  the  uncertainty 
of  human  life. 

The  sensation  however  vivid,  was  but  momentary, 
and  then  he  remembered  that  all  emotion  was  to  be 
avoided,  and  turned  away  from  the  window,  hard- 
ening his  heart. 

As  he  turned,  a  man  nodded  to  him,  and  he 
started. 

"  I  thought  it  was  you,"  said  the  easy  familiar 
tones  of  the  medical  student.  "  Come  up  to  see  a 
doctor  eh?  " 

Richard  felt  almost  inclined  to  contradict  him, 
but  the  unconscious  good  humour  of  the  young  man's 
expression  disarmed  resentment,  and  he  grunted  an 
assent. 

"Who'd  you  go  to?" 

Richard  gave  the  name. 

"  I  could  have  told  you  of  a  better  man.  What'd 
he  think?" 

"  How  can  I  tell  what  he  thought?  "  said  Rich- 
ard in  surly  tones.  "  He  talked  for  twenty  minutes 
and  said  nothing.  Whether  because  he'd  nothing  to 
say,  or  because  he  wouldn't  tell  me  anything  I  don't 
know." 

The  medical  student's  serious  look  of  interest  be- 
trayed him  into  giving  a  gloomy  and  satirical  ac- 
count of  his  interview  with  the  specialist. 


162  THE  TYRANT 

"  He  thinks  someone  ought  to  go  with  me  — " 
he  ended  sardonically.  "  I  suppose  you  wouldn't 
like  the  job?" 

The  words  escaped  him  almost  unawares.  He 
had  been  turning  over  the  doctor's  counsels  uneasily 
in  his  own  mind. 

;i  Wouldn't  I  just?  "  said  the  student,  with  a  care- 
less laugh.  "  I'm  at  a  loose  end.  Not  to  go  back 
to  work  for  three  or  four  months.  I'm  stopping 
here  to-night  and  off  to  Devon  and  Cornwall  to-mor- 
row with  my  trusty  bike.  It's  dull  work  holiday 
making  alone." 

Richard  Kemys  looked  hard  at  the  medical 
student  and  the  medical  student  returned  his  look 
with  the  frank  independence  that  characterized  him. 

Again  the  elder  man  thought  of  the  doctor's  words 
urging  him  not  to  set  forth  upon  his  travels  alone; 
he  reflected  that  if  he  were  to  take  anyone  with  him 
he  might  as  well  take  someone  who  would  know  what 
to  do  in  case  of  emergency;  and  especially  if  he  could 
make  a  bargain  — 

1  You'd  have  to  look  after  me  if  I  was  ill,"  he 
said  abruptly,  "  and  I'd  do  no  more  than  pay  your 
return  fare." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest?  "  said  Robert  Bewan,  flush- 
ing. 

"  I'm  not  given  to  jesting." 

"  A  voyage  would  do  more  for  me  than  fifty 
cycling  tours." 


RICHARD  IN  LONDON  163 

"  Fm  not  thinking  of  you.  I'm  thinking  of  my- 
self." 

The  young  man  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  All  right,  I'll  come." 

A  moment  later  they  were  driving  towards  Cook's 
office  in  Ludgate  Circus. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  DEED  IN  THE  BOX 

MRS.  KEMYS  was  as  deeply  occupied  with  the  prob- 
lems of  feeding  and  clothing  her  household  as  the 
humblest  of  her  neighbours,  and  the  arrival  of  the 
postbag  found  her  busily  weighing  out  groceries  in 
her  store-room,  and  putting  by  the  eggs  which  had 
just  been  brought  in  from  the  poultry  yard. 

"  My  dear,  what  is  it?  "  she  said  as  Sophy  burst 
in  upon  her. 

"  The  letters,  Mamma,  and  it's  Courtenay's  day 
for  writing  to  me.  Do  please  open  the  bag." 

Courtenay  was  Sophy's  favourite  brother,  and  he 
confided  especially  in  her  as  Rodric  confided  in  Annie. 
The  expected  letter  was  forthcoming,  and  Sophy 
sat  down  upon  a  wooden  grocery  case,  and  opened  it 
eagerly. 

Mrs.  Kemys  read  her  husband's  letter,  folded  it 
nervously,  and  put  it  into  her  pocket. 

"  I  hope  Mr.  Richard's  well,  ma'am.  When  he 
went  away  I  fancied  he  looked  as  though  the  acci- 
dent had  shaken  him  more  than  he  knew,"  said  the 
inquisitive  Sharman. 

"  He's  quite  well,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys  absently. 
"  But  he  will  not  be  coming  back  just  yet." 

164 


THE  DEED  IN  THE  BOX          165 

"  Then  I  do  think  we  might  do  the  study,"  said 
Sharman  thoughtfully.  "  It's  not  had  a  turn-out 
since  last  he  went  to  town,  and  the  housemaid  says 
the  shelves  and  all  are  in  a  dreadful  state." 

Mrs.  Kemys  roused  herself.  "  Of  course  it  ought 
to  be  done.  If  we  can  make  sure  of  putting  every- 
thing back  exactly  as  it  is." 

"  You  leave  that  to  me,  ma'am,  and  don't  get 
troubling  yourself.  Miss  Sophy,  you  ought  to  take 
care  of  your  Mamma.  She's  looked  wore  out  these 
last  days  worrying  over  Miss  Annie.  Why  don't 
you  make  her  go  out  this  lovely  morning?  I'll  see 
to  Gwenny  doing  the  study,  and  under  my  own  eye 
shall  it  be  done  this  very  morning." 

"  When  does  Mamma  ever  listen  to  me  ?  "  said 
Sophy,  shrugging  her  shoulders.  "  But  the  boys 
will  be  back  next  week,  and  she  listens  to  them. 
You  had  better  talk  to  them,  Sharman." 

Mrs.  Kemys  smiled,  but  rather  absently.  Her 
hands  were  still  busying  themselves  among  the 
shelves  of  the  store-room,  but  her  mind  was  busy  in 
another  direction. 

"  That  is  all,"  she  said  in  a  tone  of  relief,  as 
Sharman  departed  laden  with  jars  and  packages. 
"  Sophy  dear,  I  think  I  will  go  out,  as  Sharman  sug- 
gests, for  I  have  a  headache.  I'll  do  the  flowers  this 
morning  for  you." 

"  Oh  thank  you,  Mamma,  and  I  can  get  on  with 
Annie's  wrapper,"  said  Sophy,  but  she  lingered. 

"Mamma,  about  Courtenay — " 


1 66  THE  TYRANT 

"  What  about  Courtenay?  " 

"I'm  not  sure  I'm  at  liberty  to  tell  —  but  —  oh 
Mamma,  he's  in  a  little  scrape.  I  don't  mean  any- 
thing serious,  but  he  has  got  into  debt  —  I  don't 
think  it's  much,"  said  Sophy,  frightened  by  the  pal- 
lor of  her  mother's  face. 

"  Not  much,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  rather  bitterly. 

"  No,  it's  not  much.  Only  he's  been  ordering 
books  —  that  he  wanted,  and  —  and  one  or  two  en- 
gravings for  his  rooms." 

"  Books  and  engravings,"  sighed  Mrs.  Kemys,  be- 
tween relief  and  dismay,  "  foolish  boy." 

"  I  don't  see  that  he's  so  foolish,"  said  Sophy 
rather  rebelliously.  "  He  must  have  books.  And 
if  the  engravings  weren't  exactly  necessary,  he  says 
they  inspire  him  to  write  —  but  I  forgot,  you  know 
nothing  of  his  writings.  He  tells  no  one  but  me. 
I  am  only  telling  it  in  the  strictest  confidence," 
Sophy  said,  looking  alarmed,  but  her  mother  paid  but 
scant  attention  to  this  revelation. 

"  If  he  has  bills  he  can't  pay  —  and  how  can  he 
pay  them?  if  he  has  debts,  they  will  certainly  come 
to  your  father's  ears,  and  he  will  be  taken  away  from 
Oxford,"  she  said  wearily.  "  I  thought  better  of 
Courtenay." 

"  If  it  had  been  Roddy,  no  one  would  have  said 
anything,"  said  Sophy,  in  rather  jealous  tones.  "  Oh 
Mamma  he  says  it  is  only  a  little  —  a  very  little,  that 
would  make  things  all  right  to  go  on  with,  and  he 
never  asks  for  anything  as  a  rule." 


THE  DEED  IN  THE  BOX          167 

"  I  am  just  as  able  to  help  him  a  little  as  a  great 
deal,"  said  her  mother.  Then  as  Sophy  was  going 
reluctantly  away,  she  bethought  herself  with  a  start 
of  her  husband's  letter,  and  she  said  hurriedly,  "  Tell 
him  I  may  be  able  to  do  something  —  I'm  not  cer- 
tain —  but  it  is  just  possible.  I  will  write  in  a  day 
or  two,  before  he  comes  home.  Don't  let  the  poor 
boy  despair.  After  all,  as  you  say,  he  asks  so  sel- 
dom." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Mamma." 

A  very  little  hope  sufficed  to  raise  Sophy's  spirits; 
she  went  down  the  long  stone  corridor  from  the 
store-room  singing  cheerfully.  An  inclination  to 
sing  had  seized  many  members  of  the  squire's  house- 
hold since  his  departure.  The  little  boys  were 
shouting  joyfully  and  chasing  each  other  noisily  on 
the  nursery  floor.  A  door  banged  occasionally,  and 
old  Pryse  could  be  heard  whistling  in  the  pantry 
whenever  the  green  baize  door  opened  and  shut  to 
let  anyone  through  to  the  back  premises.  An  in- 
describable relief  pervaded  the  atmosphere  of  the 
old  house. 

Mrs.  Kemys  took  her  shady  hat  from  the  peg 
whereon  it  hung,  and  lifted  her  garden  gloves  and 
basket  and  scissors  from  the  lid  of  the  old  chest, 
where  lay  in  rows  the  master's  riding  and  driving 
gloves.  Then  she  slipped  on  her  overshoes  and  went 
out  into  the  sunshine  across  the  dewy  lawn  and  wet 
gravel  paths. 

After  a  night's  rain  the  sun  was  shining  in  a  clear 


1 68  THE  TYRANT 

blue  sky;  the  concert  of  the  birds  among  the  budding 
branches  of  the  forest  trees  in  the  shrubberies,  was 
almost  deafening;  here  and  there  a  wet  glistening 
larch  stood  forth  among  the  brown,  gaily  arrayed  in 
palest  and  freshest  green;  a  thousand  diamonds 
glittered  on  the  drooping  fairy  sprays  of  the  delicate 
birch. 

The  foliage  of  an  evergreen  rose  scattered  a 
shower  of  dew  over  her  as  she  pushed  open  the 
rickety  door  of  the  kitchen  garden. 

The  dazzling  white  bloom  of  the  "  Snow  on  the 
mountain  "  clothed  the  ridge  of  the  old  grey  stone 
walls,  and  in  the  sunny  sheltered  enclosure  fluttered 
a  peacock  butterfly  and  a  yellow  rival  as  gaily  as 
though  summer  had  already  arrived.  Beside  the 
door  a  big  bush  of  flowering  currant  drooped  a 
thousand  rose-pink  bunches  of  blossom.  The  waxen 
red  bloom  of  the  peach  alternated  with  the  thick 
white  blossom  of  greengages,  and  through  the  cross- 
ing of  the  gnarled  branches  on  the  loosely-mortared 
stone  background,  little  ferns  thrust  themselves. 

It  was  because  Richard  was  not  returning  imme- 
diately that  Mrs.  Kemys  could  permit  herself  the 
pleasure  of  cutting  a  few  white  hyacinths  from  the 
rows  of  stately  spikes  in  the  border  below  the  green- 
house. 

She  gathered  jonquils  and  narcissus  and  tall  rushes 
for  the  vases  in  the  morning-room,  and  stole  a  few  of 
the  tulips  whose  brilliant  ragged  petals  were  just 
bursting  from  their  green  sheath. 


THE  DEED  IN  THE  BOX  169 

She  had  a  headache  from  two  almost  sleepless 
nights,  during  which  she  had  revolved  incessantly  in 
her  mind  the  question  of  Annie's  visit  to  Artramont; 
—  and  until  the  arrival  of  her  husband's  letter  this 
morning  she  had  felt  herself  unable  to  come  to  any 
decision. 

Annie's  pleading  words  had  rung  in  her  ears. 

"Couldn't  you  make  it  happen?  —  If  you  only 
had  the  courage !  " 

With  the  possibility  of  Richard's  immediate  re- 
turn Annette  could  not  find  the  courage  of  which  she 
had  boasted  to  her  mother-in-law. 

But  now  — 

Annette  was  startled  by  the  news  in  her  husband's 
letter  of  his  contemplated  voyage  to  New  Zealand. 
She  knew  him  so  well  that  she  understood  instantly 
that  he  would  not  have  mentioned  the  possibility  to 
her  at  all  unless  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go. 
It  never  occurred  to  her  that  his  health  could  have 
anything  to  do  with  such  a  decision. 

He  was  not  given  to  explaining  the  affairs  of  his 
business  to  her,  and  she  knew  of  no  reason  why  they 
should  not  take  him  to  New  Zealand  as  easily  as 
keep  him  in  London. 

Her  mind  was  so  full  of  Annie,  and  the  opportuni- 
ties that  seemed  opening  before  her  child,  that  she 
dwelt  scarcely  at  all  upon  the  difference  that  her 
husband's  prolonged  absence  might  make  to  her  own 
life. 

During  the  whole  period  of  their  married  life,  he 


1 7o  THE  TYRANT 

had  seldom  spent  more  than  two  or  three  weeks  con- 
secutively away  from  his  home,  at  irregular  intervals 
which  had  latterly  become  less  and  less  frequent,  and 
only  when  compelled  to  do  so  by  the  exigencies  of 
business. 

The  exception  had  been  shortly  after  their  mar- 
riage, when  she  had  understood  vaguely  that  his  af- 
fairs were  passing  through  a  crisis,  which  necessi- 
tated a  journey  to  Sweden,  where  his  partner  Re- 
sided, and  a  prolonged  stay  in  that  country. 

But  this  was  over  twenty  years  ago,  and  now  the 
prospect  to  her  of  being  left  in  sole  charge  of  her 
home  and  family,  without  her  masterful  mate  to 
direct  all  her  affairs  was  novel  indeed. 

Yet  she  scarcely  glanced  at  it  in  her  absorbing 
anxiety  over  the  one  question;  dared  she  take  the 
risk  of  his  possible,  nay,  his  probable,  return  to  take 
leave  of  his  family,  and  permit  Annie  to  accept  Lady 
Yorath's  invitation?  The  very  thought  turned  her 
cold  with  apprehension. 

Oh,  if  he  were  gone  —  and  the  account  of  which 
he  spoke  actually  opened  at  the  bank  of  Llysdinam 
—  so  that  she  could  get  poor  Annie  some  decent 
things  —  she  thought,  with  beating  heart  and  throb- 
bing brow. 

The  thatched  roof  of  her  mother-in-law's  cottage, 
with  its  thin  line  of  white  smoke  rising  against  the 
blue  background  of  hills  —  was  visible  above  the 
far  wall  of  the  kitchen  garden. 


[THE  DEED  IN  THE  BOX          171 

Mrs.  Kemys  looked  at  the  scented  burden  she  car- 
ried, and  decided  that  her  mother-in-law  ought  to 
share  the  spoils  of  her  raid  on  Richard's  sacred  bor- 
ders, though  she  smiled  ruefully  at  her  own  weak- 
ness in  making  the  excuse  even  to  herself. 

But  self-reproach  was  dispelled  by  the  eager  de- 
light and  relief  on  the  old  lady's  face,  as  the  lowly 
door  of  her  little  domain  was  opened  to  admit  An- 
nette, who  now  appeared  smiling,  under  the  budding 
lilacs,  and  bade  her  good  morning. 

Old  Mrs.  Kemys  was  seated  in  her  wheel-chair,  in 
the  full  blaze  of  the  spring  sunshine,  which  illumi- 
nated the  thousand  wrinkles  of  her  clear-skinned  fine- 
featured  old  face,  though  the  mushroom  hat  of  the 
old-fashioned  country  lady  shaded  her  keen  blue 
eyes. 

Her  knitting,  her  Daily  Mail,  her  basket  of  letters 
and  gay-coloured  wools  and  odds  and  ends,  lay  be- 
side her  as  usual,  upon  a  small  table,  with  her  writ- 
ing-case and  spectacles;  and  her  white  cat  was 
stretching  itself  lazily  beside  her  footstool. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  come  in !  "  she  said  in  glad  tones. 
"  I  have  scarcely  been  able  to  sleep  for  wondering 
what  you  had  decided  to  do,  and  whether  you  have 
heard  from  Richard." 

A  certain  wifely  jealousy  prevented  Annette  from 
actually  showing  her  husband's  letter  to  his  mother; 
she  read  aloud  the  whole  of  the  contents,  but  kept 
the  beginning  and  the  ending  to  herself,  ashamed  of 


172  THE  TYRANT 

his  coldness  and  secretly  resentful;  yet  trying  to 
maintain  a  pitiful  illusion  of  sacred  marital  endear- 
ments which  must  not  be  spoken  aloud. 

Richard  knew  nothing  of  the  curious  truth  that 
a  woman  does  not  resent  selfish  or  even  brutal  treat- 
ment from  the  man  she  loves  as  she  resents  cold 
or  slighting  words;  which  is  also  perhaps  the  reason 
why  she  is  so  often  indifferent  to  the  plain-spoken 
man  of  worth,  and  so  easily  charmed  by  the  smooth- 
tongued villain.  Annette  would  have  remained  al- 
most unconscious  of  her  husband's  faults  if  he  had 
not  grudged  her  the  occasional  caress  of  look  or 
speech  which  her  soul  craved. 

"  He  means  to  go,"  said  old  Mrs.  Kemys,  breath- 
less and  emphatic.  Her  face  lit  up,  and  her  eyes 
danced  so  that  it  appeared  as  though  her  rheumatism 
would  hardly  prevent  her  from  jumping  out  of  her 
chair. 

"  I  am  sure  he  means  to  go,"  said  Annette. 

;<  Well,"  said  the  old  lady,  excitedly,  "  your  course 
is  very  clear." 

"Do  you  think  we  can  risk  it?"  said  Annette 
doubtfully,  and  her  light  blue  eyes  wandered  un- 
certainly from  her  mother-in-law's  eager  face  to  the 
cottage  windows,  where  the  birds  were  quarrelling 
loudly  under  the  eaves. 

"  It  would  be  very  absurd  to  risk  anything  when 
there  is  the  faintest  chance  of  his  returning  and  spoil- 
ing it  all,"  said  the  old  lady.  "  You  must  drive  to 


THE  DEED  IN  THE  BOX          173 

Llysdinam,  and  explain  to  Annie  that  there's  no  pos- 
sibility of  letting  her  go  to  Artramont  until  she  has 
some  proper  clothes  to  go  in,  and  that  you  are  order- 
ing them  at  once," 

"Dear  Granny!" 

"  At  once,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys  obstinately.  "  The 
dressmakers  in  Llysdinam  are  not  up  to  much,  but 
they  are  better  than  nothing,  and  no  one  knows  bet- 
ter than  you  what  a  girl  needs  for  visiting  a  fashion- 
able country  house.  And  —  and  you  can  have 
everything  put  down  to  me,  my  dear." 

"  Dear  Granny,  you  can't  afford  it." 

"  On  such  an  occasion  as  this  I  should  not  hesitate 
to  run  into  debt  if  need  be,"  said  the  old  lady,  purs- 
ing up  her  lips  and  tossing  her  head.  "  Pray  has 
Richard  not  got  my  bit  of  capital?  If  I  died  he'd 
have  to  pay."  Her  chuckle  was  an  exact  replica  of 
her  son's.  "  If  I  don't  die  I  shall  pay  it  off  in  time; 
or  you  will  have  to  screw  something  out  of  the  house- 
hold accounts  while  he's  gone,  my  love." 

"  I'll  do  that,"  said  Annette,  between  smiles  and 
tears.  "  She  won't  need  so  much,  poor  child,  but 
the  little  will  make  all  the  difference.  If  only  my 
Annie  were  getting  her  little  chance  of  —  of  happi- 
ness, I  could  better  bear  the  trouble  about  poor 
Roddy,  but  if  Richard  does  return  —  he  will  ex- 
pect to  find  her  at  home  and  be  so  indignant  that  she 
has  not  left  the  hospital  — " 

"  Richard  will  just  be  disappointed  for  once  then," 
said  the  old  lady,  sharply.  "  You  will  say  she's  not 


i74  THE  TYRANT 

well  enough  to  be  moved,  and  she  will  say  the  same. 
He  can't  insist.  Not  that  it  signifies,  for  I  am  per- 
suaded in  my  own  mind  that  he  won't  come  home  to 
say  goodbye  at  all.  If  he's  made  up  his  mind  to  go, 
he'll  go  without  a  moment's  delay.  I  know  him." 

The  event  proved  that  his  mother  did  know  Rich- 
ard Kemys. 

Annette  drove  into  Llysdinam  that  afternoon,  and 
saw  her  daughter,  and  whispered  her  hopes  that  the 
visit  to  Artramont  might  yet  be  arranged  if  she 
would  be  good  and  patient,  and  agree  to  remain  a 
little  longer  in  the  hospital. 

Annie  declared  herself  only  too  anxious  to  remain ; 
with  such  a  hope  to  sustain  her,  and  the  visits  of 
Lady  Yorath  and  the  enquiries  of  Lady  Yorath's 
son  to  cheer  her,  she  was  enjoying  herself  in  spite  of 
her  broken  arm  and  bruised  side ;  the  nurses  sang  the 
praises  of  their  patient  to  her  mother,  and  everyone 
was  agreed  that  Annie  should  remain  where  she  was 
for  the  present. 

With  a  mind  relieved,  Mrs.  Kemys  drove  into 
Llysdinam  town,  and  busied  herself  in  fulfilling  the 
commissions  of  her  mother-in-law.  There  was  not 
much,  as  the  old  lady  had  said,  in  the  way  of  fashion 
to  be  bought  in  Llysdinam,  but  she  ordered  a  few 
things,  with  a  due  regard  for  economy,  and  again 
told  herself  with  a  sigh  that  they  were  better  than 
nothing. 


THE  DEED  IN  THE  BOX          175 

Sophy  and  the  little  boys  were  awaiting  her  return 
eagerly. 

'  There's  a  telegram  for  you,  Mamma.  I  very 
nearly  opened  it,  but  Pryse  was  so  cross,  and  said  you 
might  be  home  any  minute." 

"  He  said  Sophy  was  always  meddling,"  cried 
Manuel. 

"  Shut  up,"  said  Corney, 

A  telegram. 

Mrs.  Kemys  was  out  of  the  carriage  instantly, 
kissing  the  little  boys  hurriedly,  and  following  Sophy 
into  the  dark,  oak-walled  hall. 

She  read  her  telegram  twice  before  she  spoke 
again.  The  relief  was  so  great  that  the  tears  came 
to  her  eyes  and  her  own  voice  trembled. 

"  Sailing  Saturday  S.  S.  Tongariro  am  writing 
Kemys." 

"  Oh  children !  Papa  is  going  away  for  a  long, 
long  time,"  she  said,  and  sat  down  in  the  chair  by  the 
hall-table. 

The  unthinking  Manuel  was  bursting  into  a  shrill 
hurrah  when  his  brother  stopped  him  with  a  ready 
shove.  Corney  would  have  cheered  more  loudly 
than  Manuel  had  it  not  been  for  the  tears  in  his 
mother's  eyes.  As  it  was  he  stood  by  her  puzzled 
yet  sympathetic,  with  a  sturdy  grubby  hand  upon  her 
knee,  waiting  for  an  explanation. 

Sophy  was  quite  as  much  puzzled  as  Corney. 
She  could  not  believe  her  mother  was  crying  merely 


i76  THE  TYRANT] 

because  her  father  was  going  away.  Sophy's  agile 
imagination  flew  from  one  cause  to  another.  Child- 
like, she  figured  to  herself  every  possible  catastrophe 
with  perfect  calm. 

Why  should  her  father  be  going  away  for  a  long, 
long  time  ?  Had  he  perhaps  committed  some  crime 
—  killed  somebody  in  a  fit  of  temper,  as  old  Pryse 
had  often  said  would  be  the  end  of  it  all,  and  was  he 
flying  from  justice? 

Was  he  about  to  desert  his  wife  and  family  as 
Merthyr  Williams  in  the  village  had  deserted  his, 
leaving  them  on  the  parish?  The  explanation  that 
Papa  was  going  to  establish  a  branch  of  his  business 
in  New  Zealand  was  so  prosaic  that  Sophy  felt  dis- 
appointment mingled  with  her  relief.  But  she  also 
felt  that  the  cause  of  her  mother's  tears  was  still  un- 
explained. 

"  You  can  take  the  telegram  to  Granny,  Sophy, 
and  say  I  will  go  and  sit  with  her  this  evening,"  said 
Mrs.  Kemys,  "  and  now  I  will  have  some  tea,  and 
rest  myself,  for  I  am  very  tired,  and  Corney  and 
Manuel  shall  keep  me  company." 

The  little  boys  followed  her  gladly  into  the  draw- 
ing-room; and  Manuel  climbed  on  to  the  sofa  next 
her,  and  laid  his  flaxen  head  fondly  against  her 
shoulder,  embracing  her  with  both  his  thin  little  jer- 
sey-clad arms. 

Corney  stood  beside  the  tea-table,  watching  her, 
with  those  honest  puzzled  blue  eyes,  set  in  the  strong 


THE  DEED  IN  THE  BOX  177 

handsome  little  face  that  was  like  his  father's  with 
the  evil,  as  it  were,  left  out. 

But  he  did  not  ask  her  why  she  cried,  though  his 
mind  was  as  speculative  on  the  subject  as  Sophy's  had 
been,  until  the  appearance  of  a  plate  of  hot  cakes 
brought  in  with  the  urn  put  his  mother's  tears  and 
everything  else  out  of  his  head. 

When  Sophy  returned  breathless  from  her  hasty 
expedition  to  the  cottage  (though  she  had  managed 
to  spread  the  news  through  the  house  and  garden  on 
her  way ) ,  she  could  not  help  thinking  that  already  the 
evidences  of  her  father's  absence  abounded. 

Had  the  squire  been  at  home,  nay  had  he  been 
even  uncertainly  expected,  the  cook  would  not  have 
baked  those  cakes;  Pryse  would  not  have  brought 
them  in  smiling  with  pleasure  because  he  knew  how 
surprised  and  delighted  the  little  boys  would  be: 
Corney  would  not  have  been  sitting  cross-legged  on 
the  floor  enjoying  his  tea,  and  occasionally  sharing  it 
with  the  puppy,  and  Manuel  would  not  have  been 
lying  on  the  sofa,  within  the  protecting  circle  of  his 
mother's  arm. 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Kemys  was  smiling,  even  laugh- 
ing, at  the  conversation  of  the  little  boys,  and  Sophy 
began  almost  to  suspect  that  her  grief  must  have  been 
assumed  for  their  benefit,  so  that  she  could  not  help 
saying  with  some  emphasis : 

"  Well,  Granny  is  delighted.  She  does  not  pre- 
tend to  be  upset  at  Papa's  going,  she  only  says  it  will 


i78  THE  TYRANT 

do  him  a  let  of  good,  and  that  she  has  always  longed 
to  see  a  branch  of  the  business  established  in  New 
Zealand  above  everything  else  in  the  world.  I  never 
saw  her  so  pleased  about  anything.  She  really 
chuckled." 

The  letter  that  came  from  Richard  Kemys  next 
morning  was,  as  he  had  foretold,  a  hurried  one ;  but 
it  gave  particulars  of  his  projected  trip,  though  it 
made  no  mention  of  the  travelling  companion  he  had 
selected.  He  would  go  via  Plymouth,  Teneriffe, 
Cape  Town  and  Hobart,  he  explained,  and  probably 
return  by  Rio.  This  part  of  his  letter  rather  puz- 
zled Mrs.  Kemys  and  would  have  puzzled  her  more 
had  not  other  matters  driven  the  subject  from  her 
mind.  Why  should  Richard  trouble  to  explain  the 
why  and  the  wherefore  of  the  route  he  had  chosen 
to  his  wife,  who  was  ignorant  of  all  routes?  He 
never  troubled  to  explain  anything  to  her,  and  loved 
to  keep  her  as  much  in  the  dark  as  he  could  con- 
cerning his  hopes  and  his  plans.  She  did  not  per- 
ceive that  it  was  his  fear  lest  she  should  insist  upon 
coming  to  bid  him  farewell  that  made  Richard 
descant  upon  the  advantages  of  the  route  he  had 
chosen,  which  obliged  him  to  start  without  any  de- 
lay, so  that  during  the  short  time  remaining  to  him 
he  must  be  overwhelmed  with  business. 

The  thought  of  Annie,  and  the  relief  and  thank- 
fulness which  possessed  her  overwhelmed  all  other 
feelings  until  she  read  on,  and  learnt  that  the  will  had 


THE  DEED  IN  THE  BOX          179 

already  been  executed  which  would  disinherit  Rodric 
and  put  little  Corney  in  his  place. 

'  Without  giving  my  boy  a  chance,  without  giving 
me  a  chance  to  talk  him  over  and  coax  him  if  needs 
be  to  abandon  the  idea,"  she  cried,  reading  Richard's 
curt  announcement  over  and  over,  while  her  face 
burnt  and  her  hands  trembled  with  helpless  indigna- 
tion. "  It  is  all  very  well  for  Granny  to  say  there 
is  plenty  of  time  for  him  to  make  a  hundred  wills  and 
alter  all  his  plans  over  and  over  again, —  but  after  all, 
even  Richard  is  not  immortal,"  said  Annette,  with  a 
sob,  "  though  God  forbid  that  he  should  die  with 
such  an  injustice  on  his  soul.  And  my  boy  that  loves 
every  stick  and  stone  about  the  place  which  is  his 
lawful  inheritance.  But  what  can  I  do.  Oh  Roddy, 
Roddy,  that  I  should  see  it  all  taken  from  you,  my 
darling,  and  be  powerless  to  help.  But  what  I  can 
do  I  will.  I  will  write  to  Richard  and  perhaps,  God 
knows  —  his  heart  may  be  softer  when  he  is  going  s« 
far  away  from  us  all,  and  without  even  a  word  of 
goodbye.  Though  that  is  better  than  if  he  left 
with  the  memory  of  hard  words  —  to  haunt  him  on 
his  journey." 

Her  courage  was  high  and  her  indignation  hot 
when  she  sat  down  to  write,  but  as  she  wrote  gentle- 
ness overcame  wrath,  and  her  letter  ended  in  words 
of  love  and  pleading,  and  was  blotted  with  many 
tears. 

".  ,,.  ,  For  the  sake  of  the  love  you  once  bore 
me,  and  I  know  that  you  love  me  still  in  your  heart, 


1 8o  THE  TYRANT 

though  like  the  weeds  in  the  parable,  the  love  of 
money  and  your  impatience  with  my  many  weak- 
nesses have  come  between  us." 

Poor  Annette  knew  vaguely  that  her  involved 
sentences  and  feeble  diction  incensed  her  husband, 
who  wrote  a  clerkly  hand  and  prided  himself  upon  his 
conciseness.  But  she  wrote  in  passionate  earnestness 
and  trembled  as  she  wrote,  praying  that  she  might 
be  given  words  wherewith  to  touch  his  heart.  "  Do 
not  go  so  far  away  from  us  all  with  this  on  your  con- 
science, and  wrong  your  own  son,  whom  you  loved 
once  when  he  was  little.  Even  if  he  has  not  grown 
up  to  be  all  you  would  wish  him  to  be,  look  round  the 
county  and  see  who  has  a  son  of  whom  parents  could 
have  a  right  to  be  prouder  than  we  of  Roddy." 
(She  thought  of  Lord  Yorath  and  her  conscience 
pricked  her,  but  she  hurried  on.)  "  He  is  big  and 
handsome  and  healthy  and  steady,  and  has  never  been 
an  undutiful  son  even  if  he  is  a  little  self-willed  at 
times.  How  can  you  and  I  expect  him  to  be  with- 
out faults  when  we  are  so  far  from  faultless 
ourselves?  He  may  not  be  so  clever  as  you  are  in 
business,  but  you  know,  dear  Richard  that  you  are  one 
in  a  thousand  for  that,  and  if  you  did  so  well  through 
leaving  home  early  and  becoming  independent,  why 
should  not  you  give  him  the  chance  to  do  the  same. 
You  do  not  like  his  interfering  or  showing  too  much 
interest  in  Nantgwilt,  though  he  loves  the  place  with 
all  his  heart;  and  he  does  not  like  being  in  London; 
would  it  not  be  better  therefore  that  he  should  go 


THE  DEED  IN  THE  BOX          181 

away  altogether?     If  you  would  think  It  over  you 
must  know  it  would  be  better.     I  ask  you  solemnly 

—  your  poor  wife  asks  you  on  her  knees  to  listen  to 
her  this  once.     Oh  Richard,  you  haven't  forgotten 

—  though  I  have  never,  never  spoken  of  it  till  now, 
that  I  broke  my  father's  heart  for  your  sake,  clinging 
to  you  though  he  begged  me  not,  and  said  hard  things 
of  you,  and  only  let  me  go  because  I  told  him  I  would 
come  to  you  whether  or  not.     I  loved  you  so  that  all 
his  years  of  devotion  and  care  seemed  as  nothing  be- 
side my  love  for  you,  but  God  knows  whether  I  have 
wondered  at  my  heart  being  once  so  hard  for  him 
that  saw  you  would  be  some  day  as  hard  for  me,  only 
I  would  not  believe  it  then.     Oh  Richard,  don't  let 
it  be  true.     Do  you  remember  the  first  time  I  saw 
you  really  angry,  and  how  frightened  I  was  at  you, 
and  how  bitterly  I  cried?     And  you  asked  me  tQ 
forgive  you  the  night  Roddy  was  born;  when  my  suf- 
fering melted  your  heart  so  that  I  think  you  suffered 
more  than  I  did;  for  your  gentleness  made  me  so 
happy  and  oh  how  happy  I  was  to  forgive  you  — 
everything.     Don't  you  remember  how  proud  I  was 
because  I  thought  he  was  going  to  be  big  and  strong 
like  you  instead  of  weak  and  delicate  like  me.     Dear 
Richard,  I  will  tell  you  now  what  I  have  never  told 
you  or  anyone,  that  Roddy  is  the  dearest  to  me  of 
all  my  children,  and  that  it  is  because  of  that  night 
he  is  so  dear.     Oh  for  the  sake  of  those  days  listen 
to  me  now,  and  if  this  letter  angers  you  which  I  have 
written  from  my  heart  as  I  can  no  longer  speak  to 


1 82  THE  TYRANT 

you  without  angering  you  —  then  put  It  aside  now 
and  read  It  only  when  you  are  far  away,  out  at  sea, 
with  none  of  my  foolishness  to  vex  you  and  only  the 
memory  of  all  we  have  been  through  together  and 
those  happy,  happy  days  of  our  youth,  to  make  you 
feel  more  kindly  towards  me  than  you  have  done  — 
lately.  Oh,  Richard,  be  good  to  me,  and  listen,  and 
do  justice  to  your  son,  as  your  father  did  to  you,  that 
your  children  may  honour  your  memory  as  his  mem- 
ory Is  honoured,  and  I  will  thank  you  and  bless  you 
for  ever  and  ever.  Your  wife,  who  never  has  loved 
and  never  will  love  any  man  but  you. 

"  ANNETTE  KEMYS." 

The  pretty  red-cheeked  Welsh  housemaid  came 
into  the  drawing-room  as  Mrs.  Kemys  closed  and 
sealed  her  letter.  Her  dark  eyes  were  round  and 
frightened. 

"  I  have  had  an  accident  in  the  master's  study, 
ma'am." 

"  Oh,  Gwenny,  what  have  you  broken?  " 

"  It  wasn't  me."  Gwenny's  lips  trembled,  but 
neither  the  mistress  nor  the  maid  were  as  aghast  as 
they  would  have  been  had  the  squire  been  at  home. 
"  I  don't  know  whateffer  Mrs.  Sharman  will  say," 
murmured  Gwenny.  "  She  wasn't  gone  a  minute 
when  it  happened.  I  was  on  the  ladder,  bringing 
down  the  things  on  the  top  of  the  book-case,  and  I 
lifted  a  square  leather-covered  box  by  the  handle  and 
it  came  out  of  the  setting  and  the  box  fell  on  the 


THE  DEED  IN  THE  BOX  183 

floor  and  bursted  herself,  and  all  the  papers  fell  out." 

Big  tears  welled  into  the  dark  eyes,  and  trickled 
down  the  shining  red  cheeks.  Mrs.  Kemys  thought 
of  the  scolding  volubility  of  Sharman,  and  was 
moved  to  compassion. 

"  It  was  very  right  of  you  to  come  and  tell  me  at 
once,  Gwenny,"  she  said  kindly,  "  and  as  you've  told 
me  perhaps  we  needn't  tell  Mrs.  Sharman.  I'll  come 
and  see  what  box  it  is,  and  get  it  mended  before  the 
squire  comes  home." 

Gwenny  gathered  together  the  fallen  documents, 
heaped  them  into  the  well  of  the  shabby  despatch- 
box,  picked  up  the  lid  to  which  one  useless  hinge  ad- 
hered by  a  single  screw  loosely  holding  to  rotten 
wood, —  and  gave  the  whole  into  her  lady's  keeping, 
with  a  grateful  heart  and  beaming  smile  of  relief  and 
thanks. 

Mrs.  Kemys  hurried  back  to  the  drawing-room 
with  her  burden,  to  be  out  of  Sharman's  way. 

"  No  wonder  the  lock  burst,"  she  thought,  as  she 
fitted  and  refitted  the  bundles  of  old  deeds  and  filed 
accounts  into  the  old  desk,  and  endeavoured  to  re- 
place the  lid.  "  Only  by  main  force  could  it  have 
been  shut  upon  such  closely-packed  contents,  and  the 
wood  is  quite  rotten."  She  saw  by  the  initials  that 
the  despatch-box  had  belonged  to  the  miser  Corne- 
lius. "  It  must  be  over  a  hundred  years  old." 

The  documents  appeared  to  be  of  much  more  re- 
cent date,  and  as  she  was  laying  the  last  upon  the  top 
of  the  others,  she  was  attracted  by  her  own  name. 


1 84  THE  TYRANT 

The  blue  envelope  was  addressed  in  Richard's 
clean  writing  to  herself,  and  twice  over. 

For  my  wife  only, 

To  Mrs.  Richard  C.  Kemys. 

On  the  impulse  of  the  moment  Annette  opened  the 
envelope,  and  a  half  sheet  of  paper  fluttered  on  to  the 
carpet,  as  she  drew  forth  a  thin  folded  parchment 
deed. 

The  parchment  opened  stiffly,  as  though  it  had 
lain  untouched  for  many  years. 

She  lifted  the  paper  from  the  carpet  and  read  a 
pencilled  note  in  Richard's  hand. 

Private. 

To  Nan.  In  case  of  my  death  destroy  this  docu- 
ment at  once.  Rex. 

She  remembered  now. 

The  two  little  names,  long  disused  between  them, 
lay  before  her  as  relics  of  past  happiness. 

Just  before  their  marriage  they  had  read  over  that 
deed  together,  and  with  his  rough  face  pressed 
against  her  soft  cheek,  he  had  explained  it  eagerly, 
as  though  seeming  afraid  there  might  be  something 
in  it  which  she  would  —  might  want  to  mention  to 
her  father  —  who  knew  nothing  of  business ;  who 
was  not  to  see  it ;  and  she  had  wondered  greatly  and 
said,  still  wondering  — 

"  But,  Rex,  I  trust  you  with  all  my  heart  and 
soul,"  and  he  had  kissed  her  exultingly  and  said  he 
knew  it,  and  that  he  believed  she  would  always  do 


THE  DEED  IN  THE  BOX  185 

what  he  bade  her  against  all  the  world,  and  she  had 
laughed,  always  wondering  that  he  could  have 
doubted  it,  and  said  "  Of  course." 

It  all  came  back  to  her  very  vividly  as  she  sat 
there,  holding  the  paper  and  looking  at  the  parch- 
ment. Only  she  thought  the  deed  had  been  destroyed 
long  ago.  He  had  surely  given  her  to  understand 
it  would  be  destroyed,  and  that  only  he  and  she  and 
the  lawyer  who  drew  it  up  would  ever  know  of  its 
existence. 

A  thought  suddenly  entered  her  mind  which  made 
her  heart  beat  faster,  and  brought  the  blood  to  her 
pale  cheeks,  so  that  they  burnt  with  a  deep  red  flush. 

Since  the  deed  had  not  been  destroyed,  since  she 
had  it  here,  safely  in  her  own  possession, —  surely  if 
she  chose  to  act  upon  it,  to  defy  Richard  —  her  heart 
whispered,  to  betray  him  —  surely,  she  held  him 
now,  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand. 


CHAPTER  XI 

MR.   TURLEY  IN   HIS   OFFICE 

WHEN  old  Mr.  Turley  heard  that  Mrs.  Kemys  the 
younger  wished  to  see  him,  he  supposed  that  she  must 
have  brought  him  some  urgent  message  from  her 
mother-in-law,  whose  trustee  and  adviser  he  was.  In 
some  curiosity,  though  also  with  a  little  stiffness,  he 
gave  the  desired  permission  for  her  entry,  and  rose 
to  greet  her  as  she  was  ushered  into  his  office. 

Mrs.  Richard  Kemys  had  been  little  Annette  to 
him  once,  and  as  a  child  had  sat  upon  his  knee,  and 
played  with  his  bunch  of  seals,  while  he  talked  to 
her  father  over  her  golden  head.  But  when  she 
grew  up  and  married  and  he  quarrelled  with  Richard 
Kemys,  as  everyone  quarrelled  sooner  or  later  with 
the  Squire  of  Nantgwilt,  he  had  met  her  rarely,  save 
in  the  cottage  of  her  mother-in-law,  who  insisted  upon 
seeing  her  late  husband's  adviser  as  often  as  she 
chose,  and  with  whose  wishes  on  this  point  Richard 
Kemys  had  apparently  not  cared  to  interfere. 

Mr.  Turley  knew  very  well  that  Annette  avoided 
him  because  she  dared  not  be  friendly,  though  she 
would  not  deny  him  a  sorrowful  smile,  or  half-fright- 
ened word  of  greeting,  even  in  Richard's  presence. 
For  his  part  he  was  only  too  willing  to  serve  her, 

186 


MR.  TURLEY  IN  HIS  OFFICE     187 

but  he  knew  that  he  served  her  best  by  keeping  out 
of  her  way. 

Yet  as  she  entered  the  little  office  which  had  once 
been  a  familiar  place  to  her,  he  was  moved  to  some 
emotion;  and  he  perceived  that  she  was  both  embar- 
rassed and  troubled,  and  perhaps  a  little  ashamed. 

"  Mr.  Turley,"  she  said,  faltering,  "  I  have  no 
right  to  come,  I  know,  after  the  way  in  which  Rich- 
ard has  behaved  to  you.  But  you  must  have  known 
that  —  that  it  was  not  altogether  my  fault,  only  my 
misfortune  " —  she  smiled  faintly  — "  that  I  have 
been  able  to  see  you  so  seldom.  And  you  are  the 
only  one  left  of  my  father's  old  friends,  to  whom 
I  could  come  for  advice  on  a  difficult  matter." 

He  stepped  forward  and  took  the  hands  she  held 
out  almost  imploringly  towards  him. 

"  My  dear,  you  are  welcome  as  flowers  in  May,  as 
welcome  as  you  always  were  in  this  dingy  old  place," 
he  said.  "  Come,  come,  you  must  not  be  upset, 
you've  inherited  a  right  to  come  here  when  you 
choose,  you  know !  You're  at  home.  Why,  there's 
the  corner  cupboard  where  the  madeira  and  the  seed 
cake  live  that  you  once  called  the  widow's  cruse,  be- 
cause the  decanter  and  the  dish  were  never  empty. 
You  used  to  make  faces  when  your  father  let  you  sip 
his  madeira,  but  you  won't  despise  it  now,  eh?  You'll 
please  me  by  taking  a  little  —  for  you're  pale  and 
tired  after  your  long  drive." 

The  old  man  filled  a  glass,  and  set  it  before  her, 
and  cut  the  perennial  seed-cake  with  such  delight  that 


1 88  THE  TYRANT 

she  could  not  refuse  to  gratify  him  by  accepting  the 
refreshment  he  offered. 

He  declined,  he  said,  to  hear  a  word  about  business 
until  she  had  done  justice  to  the  little  feast  he  set  be- 
fore her,  and  he  sat  and  chatted  to  her,  recalling  triv- 
ial incidents  of  her  visits  during  her  childhood,  with 
an  old  man's  pleasure  in  such  reminiscences. 

But  he  could  not  help  wondering,  even  during  the 
light  discourse  with  which  he  endeavoured  to  restore 
her  composure,  whether  she  had  come  to  tell  him 
that  she  could  no  longer  endure  life  with  Richard 
Kemys,  and  to  ask  him  to  aid  her  to  obtain  a  separa- 
tion from  him. 

His  feelings  of  resentment  against  his  ex-client 
gathered  strength  as  he  looked  at  Annette;  involun- 
tarily contrasting  her  as  she  was  with  his  vivid  mem- 
ory of  what  she  had  been  when  she  last  entered  his 
office  at  the  time  of  her  marriage.  To  the  old  law- 
yer the  vision  of  the  bright,  delicate,  spiritual  face  of 
the  maiden  Annette  was  more  real  than  the  actual 
living  presence  before  him,  which  he  regarded  almost 
as  the  ghost  of  his  old  friend's  beloved  child.  To 
him  she  was  a  pathetic  figure,  as  she  sat  beside  his 
office  table  in  her  shabby  gown  and  bonnet,  nervously 
crumbling  the  cake  she  did  not  want;  looking  at  him 
with  sad  blue  eyes  from  which  the  colour  seemed 
half  washed  away  by  the  shedding  of  many  tears; 
and  trying  to  smile  at  him  though  he  knew  well  that 
she  was  on  the  verge  of  weeping. 


MR.  TURLEY  IN  HIS  OFFICE      189 

Mrs.  Kemys  perceived  very  few  changes  in  the  lit- 
tle dingy  room  she  remembered  so  well. 

There  were  the  tin  boxes  with  their  white  letter- 
ings which  had  once  filled  her  with  such  awe.  One, 
conspicuously  worded,  "  Executors  of  the  Right  Hon. 
Baron  Yorath,  deceased,"  caught  her  eyes. 

A  case  of  stuffed  humming  birds  decorated  the 
mantelpiece ;  they  had  been  a  present  from  her  father 
to  old  Turley  in  the  days  when  such  things  were 
deemed  ornamental. 

The  solitary  innovation  appeared  to  be  the  tele- 
phone, for  she  was  sure  the  woven  wire  blind  which 
hid  the  lower  portion  of  the  window  was  the  identical 
one  she  remembered,  and  that  the  curtains  were  of 
the  original  pattern. 

Mr.  Turley  himself  had  changed  as  little  as  his 
surroundings  during  the  past  two  and  twenty  years. 
He  was  perhaps  rather  balder  at  seventy-two  than  he 
had  been  at  fifty;  a  little  more  shrunken  about  the 
shanks  and  rounder  about  the  shoulders. 

But  he  wore  the  same  shrewd  smiling  expression, 
the  same  gold-rimmed  pince-nez  (though  doubtless 
the  glasses  they  contained  were  stronger  ones)  and 
the  same  neat  grey  whiskers  brushed  forward  to  give 
more  width  to  his  narrow  jaw. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  settling  himself  into  the  elbow- 
chair  before  his  writing-table,  and  preparing  to  give 
his  full  attention  to  business. 

She  laid  a  folded  parchment  before  him. 


j 90  THE  TYRANT 

"  Before  you  read  this  I  want  to  explain." 

"  Yes." 

She  clasped  her  thin  hands,  and  tried  to  collect  her 
thoughts,  and  to  speak  concisely  and  clearly;  but  the 
quick  beating  of  her  heart  made  her  speech  hurried 
and  breathless  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  Richard  —  my  husband  —  is  obliged  to  go  to 
New  Zealand  on  business,  unexpectedly — "  Mr. 
Turley's  surprise  was  audible.  "  Yes  —  it  is  very 
sudden  —  he  only  made  up  his  mind  a  day  or  two 
ago  —  and  he  is  sailing  to-day." 

She  paused,  trying  to  still  her  hurrying  breath ;  and 
the  old  man  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  blotting  paper,  mak- 
ing invisible  marks  with  the  wrong  end  of  a  pencil, 
and  waiting  until  she  should  have  composed  herself. 

u  In  the  meantime,"  said  Annette,  "  he  fancies  he 
has  cause  to  be  displeased  with  our  eldest  boy  — 
with  Roddy  — " 

As  though  the  mention  of  her  son's  name  gave  her 
courage,  she  gathered  strength  and  energy  in  her  re- 
cital and  told  Mr.  Turley  of  Roddy's  wishes  and  de- 
mands, of  her  husband's  determination  to  disinherit 
him  and  put  little  Corney  in  his  place,  and  of  her 
own  despairing  efforts  to  change  that  determination, 
with  a  simplicity  and  calm  that  emphasized  the  facts. 

When  she  came  to  the  letter  she  had  written  to  her 
husband  on  the  previous  day,  her  manner  changed: 
spots  of  colour  burned  in  the  thin  cheeks  that  had 
been  so  pale. 

"  I  appealed  to  him  by  everything  we  —  I  —  held 


MR.  TURLEY  IN  HIS  OFFICE      191 

most  sacred  —  to  listen  to  me,"  she  said,  "  and 
though  he  had  already  executed  the  Will  —  though 
he  is  in  no  way  changeable  —  I  believed  that  he 
would  do  so,  for  I  had  never  made  such  an  appeal 
to  him  before  —  and  he  was  going  away  —  for  a 
long  time.  You  will  forgive  me  for  speaking  of  my 
feelings  —  nothing  else  would  explain  to  you  — 
what  I  am  about  to  —  to  —  what  I  want  you  to 
help  me  to  do.  All  last  night  I  lay  awake,  thinking 
and  thinking,  and  making  up  my  mind  to  give  him 
this  chance  " — his  wondering  look  made  her  hold  up 
an  entreating  hand  — "  Wait,  you  will  understand 
presently.  I  thought  that  he  would  —  that  he  must 
listen  to  me.  I  counted  the  days  that  must  pass  be- 
fore he  could  answer  my  letter,  for  I  knew  he  would 
be  just  starting  when  he  received  it.  It  would  be  my 
farewell, —  he  had  not  thought  of  saying  any  good- 
bye to  me  — "  There  was  a  faint,  very  faint  flavour 
of  bitterness  in  her  tone.  "  But  I  had  not  to  wait 
for  the  answer  at  all;  for  he  telegraphed  to  me  this 
morning." 

She  handed  a  telegram  to  Mr.  Turley,  and  he  read 
it. 

Received  letter:  determination  unchanged;  desire 
subject  dropped;  decision  final;  just  of  to  Docks. 

Kemys. 

"  Nothing  I  have  said  has  moved  him,"  Annette 
went  on  patiently.     "  I  see  now  that  entreaty  and  ar- 


i92  THE  TYRANT 

guments  are  quite  useless.  I  suppose  I  must  have 
known  it  in  my  heart  all  the  time.  But  I  wanted 
to  give  him  the  chance.  I  would  not  have  come  to 
you  with  this  —  if  he  had  answered  otherwise  —  if 
he  had  given  me  even  a  little  hope." 

She  unfolded  the  deed  and  put  it  into  Mr.  Turley's 
hand. 

"  Yesterday,"  said  Annette,  "  one  of  the  maids, 
turning  out  Richard's  study,  let  fall  an  old  despatch- 
box  that  stood  on  the  top  of  the  bookcase  hidden  by 
piles  of  blue  books  and  justice's  manuals.  It  was 
packed  so  tightly  with  deeds  and  parchments  that  the 
lock  burst  in  the  fall,  and  the  whole  thing  practically 
came  to  pieces,  the  wood  being  dry  and  old  and 
worm-eaten.  In  trying  to  re-pack  it  I  came  upon 
this  parchment  enclosed  in  an  envelope  addressed  to 
myself." 

"You  have  read  it?" 

"  I  have  read  it  several  times." 

Mr.  Turley  studied  it  carefully  for  some  moments. 

"  It  is  dated  just  before  your  marriage." 

"  Yes,"  murmured  Annette. 

"  Drawn  up  in  Machon's  office,  evidently.  He 
had  only  just  arrived  in  Llysdinam  then.  Here  is 
his  name  as  witness,  Habor  Machon.  It  is  rather 
unusually  worded." 

"  It  is  so  curt  that  I  fancy  Richard  must  have 
written  the  original  draft  himself,"  she  said,  smiling 
faintly.  "  He  says  that  solicitors'  wordings  are  too 
intricate,  and  that  he  prefers  something  simpler." 


MR.  TURLEY  IN  HIS  OFFICE      193 

"  No  one  will  deny  the  quality  of  simplicity  to 
amateur  lawyers,"  said  Mr.  Turley,  drily.  "  But  we 
have  no  occasion  to  complain,  for  such  efforts  are 
apt  to  double  our  opportunities  for  work.  Well, 
well,  I  should  like  to  see  a  client  of  mine  dictating 
terms  of  deeds  for  me.  Mind,  I'm  not  finding  fault 
with  this  one,"  he  added  cautiously.  "  At  first  sight 
it  appears  to  afford  no  loophole  for  dispute,  though 
I  am  of  course  not  prepared  to  give  my  opinion  upon 
it  without  consideration."  He  read  it  through  a 
second  time ;  and  Annette  waited. 

"  You  understand  its  purport?  "  he  asked,  looking 
at  her  over  his  glasses. 

"  It  was  explained  to  me  at  the  time,"  she  an- 
swered, flushing,  "  but  it  appears  to  me  to  be  suffi- 
ciently clear  in  itself  to  enable  anyone  to  understand 
it.  It  is  a  deed  of  gift  from  Richard  to  me,  appoint- 
ing himself  my  trustee  and  giving  me  Nantgwilt,  the 
house,  its  contents,  the  estate,  everything  —  together 
with  a  large  sum  of  money,  for  my  own." 

"  Securities  hereinafter  mentioned,  h'm,  h'm, 
h'm  —  to  the  estimated  value  of  £30,000,  now  de- 
posited in  my  name  at  the  Bank  of  England  — "  mut- 
tered Mr.  Turley,  reading  to  himself. 

"  That  was  it.  I  know  he  has  aways  kept  a  sepa- 
rate account  at  the  Bank  of  England,  apart  from 
Prescott's,  where  his  business  account  is,  or  the  bank 
in  Llysdinam,  on  which  he  draws  for  all  local  ex- 
penses." 

"  Who  knows  of  the  existence  of  this  deed?  " 


i94  THE  TYRANT 

"  I  suppose  only  Mr.  Machon  and  his  clerk,  be- 
sides myself.  He  may  have  told  Mr.  Joavan,  his 
solicitor  in  London ;  or  John  Bond,  his  manager.  I 
don't  know." 

"  Your  father  would  have  told  me  if  — " 

"  My  father  was  not  to  know,"  interposed  An- 
nette. 

"  Can  you  form  any  idea  why  it  was  made?  "  said 
Mr.  Turley,  looking  away  from  her  carefully. 

"  Yes,  I  can,"  said  Annette,  in  a  low  tone.  "  It 
is  only  an  idea,  for  I  know  nothing  of  business." 

"  May  I  have  it  for  what  it  is  worth?  " 

"  You  know  — •"  she  hesitated  — "  about  Rich- 
ard's business." 

"  I  know  very  little  about  it.  Something  to  do 
with  Swedish  iron,  is  it  not?  " 

"  Everything  to  do  with  it.  He  got  some  infor- 
mation on  the  subject  by  chance  as  a  lad,  which  inter- 
ested him  —  something  about  Swedish  iron  being 
burnt  with  charcoal  and  not  with  coal,  which  made 
it  of  superior  quality.  I'm  afraid  I  forget  the  de- 
tails. Anyway  when  his  godmother  left  him  a  thou- 
sand pounds  he  went  to  Sweden,  persuaded  his  father 
to  advance  him  the  money,  and  entered  into  partner- 
ship with  a  man  there  for  selling  imported  Swedish 
iron.  The  man  was  only  a  commission  agent,  I 
fancy,  but  Richard  was  bold  and  energetic,  and  ex- 
tended their  business  a  great  deal.  Much  later,  after 
he  inherited  Nantgwilt  and  during  our  engagement, 
he  told  me  that  if  he  had  the  courage  to  speculate 


MR.  TURLEY  IN  HIS  OFFICE      195 

in  iron  instead  of  merely  buying  on  commission,  he 
believed  he  could  make  a  fortune.  My  idea  is  that 
he  determined  to  do  this,  and  saw  in  our  marriage 
an  opportunity  to  make  Nantgwilt  safe  in  case  he 
failed.  If  a  man  goes  bankrupt,  his  creditors  can- 
not touch  his  wife's  property,  can  they?" 

"  It  depends.  One  moment  —  why  did  he  not  put 
Nantgwilt  and  the  rest  into  settlement  in  the  ordinary 
way?" 

"  Because,"  said  Annette,  steadily,  "  I  am  certain 
he  meant  to  destroy  this  deed  if  his  speculations  were 
successful.  Richard  was  not  the  man  to  hand  over 
the  powers  of  disposing  of  his  own  property  to  any- 
one if  he  could  help  it.  All  his  plans  were  arranged 
beforehand.  He  bought  out  his  partner  directly 
after  we  married,  and  then  waited  his  opportunity. 
It  came  two  years  later,  and  I  know  he  went  through 
a  very  exciting  time.  He  had  some  great  transac- 
tion, buying  up  Swedish  iron  and  selling  it  to  one  of 
the  large  railway  companies.  He  told  me  very  lit- 
tle, but  I  remember  he  could  hardly  eat  or  sleep  till 
it  was  all  settled.  I  do  not  think  he  has  ever  specu- 
lated in  the  same  way  since.  He  has  his  office  in 
King  William  Street,  with  John  Bond  as  manager, 
who  had  worked  for  him  in  quite  a  humble  capacity, 
but  whose  ability  and  trustworthiness  he  had  the  good 
luck  to  discover.  I  believe  he  has  prospered,  but 
to  what  extent  I  do  not  know.  I  have  thought  some- 
times —  that  he  must  be  very  well  off,"  she  faltered, 
"  though  he  is  so  careful." 


19*  THE  TYRANT 

Mr.  Turley,  who  had  heard  Richard  Kemys  de- 
scribed as  the  second  miser  of  Nantgwilt,  nodded 
compassionately. 

"  That  is  all  I  know,"  she  said,  "  or  rather,  all  I 
have  gathered,  for  most  of  it  is  only  surmise." 

"  He  never  told  you  —  in  so  many  words  —  that 
he  meant  to  destroy  that  deed  —  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  as  though  in  surprise. 

"  Richard  was  much  too  clever  to  tell  me  anything 
of  the  kind  in  words.  He  told  me  he  was  giving  me 
everything  he  had,  in  return  for  my  —  my  giving 
myself  to  him  in  spite  of  my  father's  opposition,  and 
to  show  me  he  loved  me.  But  that  he  did  not  wish 
my  father  to  know  because  he  was  on  bad  terms  with 
him,  and  had  quarrelled  over  the  marriage  settle- 
ments." 

"  You  understood  it  then  —  how  —  ?  " 

"  Not  all  at  once  —  only  vaguely  —  gradually  — 
and  I  had  the  impression  that,  after  the  speculation 
was  safe  —  he  had  destroyed  the  deed.  I  am  sure 
he  told  Machon  so.  I  never  dreamt  of  its  being  oth- 
erwise." 

"  But  that  is  just  it.     Why  did  he  not  destroy  it  ?  " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  wearily. 

"Why  should  he  trouble  to  do  so?  He  knew 
he  had  only  to  throw  it  into  the  fire,  or  to  bid  me 
throw  it  into  the  fire  at  any  moment.  He  thought 
it  was  certain  to  be  destroyed  by  me  if  he  died 
first — "  her  lip  quivered,  "and  meantime  there  it 


MR.  TURLEY  IN  HIS  OFFICE      197 

was  —  safe  —  a  loophole  of  escape  if  anything  went 
wrong  with  the  business." 

"  And  now,  you  will  not  throw  it  into  the  fire  — 
even  at  his  bidding,"  said  Mr.  Turley  slowly. 

"  I  want  to  —  to  put  it  out  of  my  own  power  to 
do  so,"  she  said,  with  white  lips,  and  scarcely  above 
a  whisper.  "  I  am  going  to  —  to  find  courage  to 
defy  Richard  —  to  —  to  betray  his  absolute  confi- 
dence in  me  —  for  —  for  his  own  sake,  for  my  boy's 
sake,  for  the  sake  of  all  our  children.  That  is  why 
I  have  come  to  you.  First  to  ask  you  to  tell  me  — 
if  the  deed  will  —  will  hold  good  —  whether  it  is 
well  and  truly  executed,  don't  they  say?  Oh,  I  don't 
expect  you  to  answer  me  off-hand.  I  know  that  is 
not  the  way  with  lawyers.  You  will  have  to  study 
it  and  go  into  the  matter,  and  perhaps  go  to  London 
and  take  counsel's  opinion  ?  I  do  not  suppose  it  will 
be  easy  to  —  to  settle  such  a  question  at  once,  and 
even  if  it  were,  there  will  be  difficulties.  No  one,  to 
my  knowledge,  has  ever  got  the  better  of  Richard." 

"If  you  will  give  me  leave  —  I  think  I  will  get 
the  better  of  him  this  time,"  said  Mr.  Turley,  grimly. 

He  looked  at  the  parchment,  and  a  smile  stole  over 
his  face.  "  I  don't  think  they  will  find  it  easy  to  get 
out  of  this.  My  friend  Machon  is  a  better  lawyer 
than  I  suspected,"  he  said  with  twinkling  eyes. 

"Then  you  think — ?"  she  said  breathlessly. 

But  Mr.  Turley  would  not  say  what  he  thought,  in 
a  word.  He  uttered  a  short  discourse  upon  the  sub- 


198  THE  TYRANT 

ject  of  bona  fide  transactions,  which  he  made  particu- 
larly elaborate  because  he  knew  that  it  is  always 
safest  in  business  matters  to  assume  that  every  woman 
is  a  fool;  and  Mrs.  Kemys  listened  attentively,  be- 
cause she  knew  that  if  she  wanted  to  learn  some- 
thing from  him  presently  that  she  did  not  know  she 
must  listen  patiently  to  many  things  that  she  did. 

"  Then  even  if  —  if  there  were  some  difficulty  in 
establishing  the  deed,  there  would  be  matter  in  it 
for  a  fight  in  the  law-courts?  " 

"  Most  certainly  —  if  he  were  fool  enough  to  let 
such  a  deed,  made  for  such  a  purpose,  be  brought  to 
light  in  such  a  manner,  which  I  am  very  sure  he 
would  not  be,"  said  Mr.  Turley. 

"  But  with  that  deed  in  your  hand  —  if  —  if  I 
gave  you  a  power  of  attorney  or  whatever  is  neces- 
sary—  you  could  fight  Richard  on  my  behalf?  " 

"Without  it — "  he  cried. 

"  No,  no.  I  must  put  it  all  into  your  hands  so 
that  it  is  beyond  my  power  to  recall  it,"  she  said 
nervously.  "  It  sounds  easy  to  say  fight  Richard 
now,  but  when  he  comes  home  I  shall  never  have 
courage  unless  I  put  it  out  of  my  own  power  to  draw 
back." 

"  I  understand,"  he  said  soothingly. 

"  I  want  it  established,"  she  said  breathlessly,  "  if 
it  is  possible  to  establish  it,  so  that  Richard's  will,  the 
unjust  will  he  has  made  — " 

'  Will  be  waste  paper,"  said  Mr.  Turley,  nod- 
ding, "  so  far  as  Nantgwilt  is  concerned.  He  can- 


MR.  TURLEY  IN  HIS  OFFICE      199 

not  will  away  what  does  not  belong  to  him,  of 
course." 

"  So  that  if  he  died  on  the  voyage  —  which  God 
forbid,"  she  said,  and  looked  at  him  in  a  kind  of  hor- 
ror at  the  very  sound  of  the  words,  "  my  boy's  in- 
heritance would  be  safe." 

"  If  we  establish  this,  Nantgwilt  belongs  to  you; 
you  could  do  what  you  chose  with  it." 

"  Mr.  Turley,  will  you  draw  up  a  will  for  me  to 
sign  at  once;  leaving  it  to  Roddy,  or  the  eldest  sur- 
viving son  —  as  it  would  go  by  entail  in  fact.  Then, 
if  Richard  kills  me  when  he  comes  home,  it  will  not 
so  much  matter."  She  said,  with  her  faint  smile. 

"  Come,  come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Turley,  sooth- 
ingly. "  It  will  not  be  so  bad  as  that.  Though  I 
have  no  doubt  he  will  be  very  angry." 

"  He  will  have  a  right  to  be  angry.  Do  you  think 
I  don't  feel,  in  every  fibre  of  my  being  —  that  I  am 
playing  him  false,  I  whom  he  trusted  —  who  have 
stood  by  him  always  against  every  one,  against  my 
own  father,"  she  said  passionately.  "  Don't  you  un- 
derstand I  know  what  everyone  thinks  of  Richard  — 
how  many  enemies  he  has  who  would  rejoice  to  see 
him  outwitted.  It  is  just  that  —  that  I  have  always 
felt  he  had  no  one  but  me  —  that  he  stands  alone 
—  that  has  made  me  able — "  The  words  she  left 
unsaid  were  the  most  eloquent,  as  she  turned  her  sad 
eyes  upon  her  father's  old  friend. 

"  If  he  stands  alone,"  muttered  Mr.  Turley,  "  it 
is  his  own  fault." 


200  THE  TYRANT 

"  That  makes  it  the  sadder,"  she  said,  patiently. 
"  Always  he  has  suspected  everyone  and  trusted  only 
himself  —  and  me.  Even  his  manager  and  old  Jo- 
avan,  whose  integrity  is  tried  —  he  boasts  that  he  has 
so  arranged  matters  that  they  check  each  other  and 
are  both  checked  by  him.  Always  he  has  seen,  as 
it  were,  the  whole  world  against  him ;  but  that  I  am 
on  his  side  he  has  never  been  able  to  doubt.  And 
now  I  have  deserted  him.  And  I  don't  know  how 
I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  do  this  thing,"  she  said, 
and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  for  a  moment.  "  I 
boasted,"  she  said  faintly,  "  that  if  God  would  give 
me  the  opportunity,  I  would  find  the  courage.  But 
it  is  harder  than  I  thought,  though  it  is  for  the  chil- 
dren's sake,  Roddy's  —  and  —  and  Annie's  — " 

"  Annie's !  "  he  cried. 

"  Annie's  too.  Oh,  never  mind  why,  I  can't  ex- 
plain," she  said  hurriedly.  "  Mr.  Turley,  could  I 
not  raise  some  money  on  the  strength  of  that  deed?  " 

"  Certainly  you  could,"  he  said  promptly.  And 
then  chuckled. 

"  I  think  Mr.  Richard  would  pay  a  very  large  sum 
of  money  to  get  it  back,"  said  Mr.  Turley. 

"  But  it  is  now  —  now  that  I  want  it,"  she  said, 
almost  wildly.  "  There  is  my  boy  to  be  started,  and 
his  outfit,  and  —  and  other  things.  If  you  could 
advance  me  some  money  now  —  a  great  deal,  two 
or  three  hundred  pounds;  and  a  thousand  when  my 
boy  sails  for  the  Argentine,  on  the  security  of  the 
deed.  After  that  there  could  be  no  drawing  back," 


MR.  TURLEY  IN  HIS  OFFICE      201 

she  said,  laughing  nervously.  "  You  will  think  me 
grasping,  but  if  you  knew  how  badly  I  want  money 
now  —  at  this  moment." 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  with  tears  in  his  small, 
shrewd  eyes,  "  you  need  not  have  waited  to  find  the 
deed  to  come  and  ask  your  father's  old  friend  for 
that." 


CHAPTER  XII 

ANNETTE    IN    LONDON 

ON  Sunday  afternoon  it  was  the  family  custom  for 
old  Mrs.  Kemys  to  be  wheeled  across  to  the  Manor 
House,  where  she  met  Mrs.  Eyewater  and  her  two 
daughters  and  Mr.  Meredydd;  tea  was  carried  out 
onto  the  lawn,  if  the  weather  permitted,  and  if  not, 
spread  upon  the  round  table  in  the  dark  oak-walled 
drawing-room. 

Nobody  was  very  fond  of  old  Mrs.  Eyewater ;  but 
as  though  in  compensation  she  was  very  fond  of  her- 
self; and  never  tired  of  discussing  this  most  interest- 
ing subject. 

She  presented  rather  a  pathetic  figure;  a  travesty 
of  good  looks  long  past;  with  her  small  tight-laced 
person,  elaborate  golden  coiffure  that  scarcely  dis- 
guised her  own  grey  hair;  a  smart  girlish  frock  that 
would  not  have  ill-become  Sophy's  trim  and  youthful 
form,  and  pointed  shoes  which  caused  her  to  hobble 
rather  than  walk.  Her  old  wrinkled  face  peered 
forth  beneath  the  narrow  brim  of  a  flowery  hat,  like 
the  sad  wizened  countenance  of  a  monkey;  and  her 
incessant  chattering  and  grimacing  served  but  to 
heighten  the  resemblance. 

But  the  pathos  was  lost  upon  her  neighbours  at 

202 


ANNETTE  IN  LONDON  203 

Nantgwilt,  who  had  borne  her  airs  and  graces  so  long 
that  they  found  them  frankly  insufferable,  and  were 
bored  instead  of  touched  by  her  idiosyncrasies. 

The  devotion  of  her  two  elderly  daughters,  how- 
ever, roused  a  never-ending  wonder  and  admiration. 
No  one  knew  Mrs.  Eyewater's  age,  but  it  was  be- 
lieved that  she  had  married  comparatively  late  in 
life,  and  nothing  could  be  more  obvious  than  that 
Miss  Cynthia  and  Miss  Perina  had  passed  their  half- 
century.  Mrs.  Eyewater,  however,  had  scarcely  ob- 
served that  her  daughters  were  grown  up,  far  less 
that  they  had  grown  old. 

They  had  spent  their  childhood,  she  informed  ev- 
eryone, at  Cheltenham.  Being  left  a  widow,  she 
had  brought  them  to  the  Red  House  at  Llanon, 
twenty  years  ago,  when  the  death  of  Colonel  Myllon 
had  left  the  place  vacant.  She  talked  as  though  her 
children  had  grown  up  in  the  village,  and  the  vil- 
lagers were  tired  of  reminding  each  other  that  the 
young  ladies  must  have  been  well  over  thirty  when 
they  first  appeared  upon  the  scene.  It  was  too  old 
a  pleasantry  to  amuse  anyone.  There  was  a  genu- 
ine respect  for  the  spinster  sisters,  though  they  al- 
ways seemed  to  be  a  little  unhappy  and  out  of  their 
element  in  Llanon,  and  were  understood  to  regret 
Cheltenham.  However,  they  occupied  themselves 
to  the  best  of  their  ability,  were  kind  to  their  poorer 
neighbours  in  an  unobtrusive  way,  worked  in  their 
garden,  decorated  the  church  at  the  proper  seasons, 
and  sang  in  the  choir  to  the  distraction  of  the  con- 


204  THE  TYRANT 

gregation,  who  being  partly  Welsh  were  wholly  mu- 
sical. 

The  weather  was  not  particularly  warm  upon  this 
occasion,  but  the  party  assembled  nevertheless  upon 
the  lawn  beneath  the  lofty  spreading  branches  of  the 
mighty  cedar  that  was  its  chief  ornament,  for  all 
were  accustomed  to  an  outdoor  life;  and  the  garden 
was  a  sheltered  one. 

Old  Mrs.  Kemys  wore  her  lilac  bonnet  in  defer- 
ence to  the  day,  and  because  it  always  replaced  her 
best  winter  poke  at  this  season  of  the  year,  though 
it  was  as  much  less  comfortable  as  it  was  more  ele- 
gant. But  her  fine  waxen  skin  and  clear  eyes  were 
very  well  able  to  bear  exposure  to  the  searching 
light  of  the  spring  day.  In  her  soft  white  cashmere 
shawl  wrapped  about  her  plain  old-fashioned  gown 
of  plum-coloured  silk,  she  presented  a  dignified  con- 
trast to  the  tiny  over-dressed  bejewelled  old  lady 
perched  on  the  opposite  garden  seat. 

"  We  used  to  say  nothing  ever  happened  in  Lla- 
non,"  Miss  Cynthia  remarked  to  Sophy.  "  But  it 
has  been  a  very  exciting  week  for  you  all.  What 
with  the  accident,  and  Annie's  broken  arm,  and  her 
being  laid  up  in  the  hospital." 

"  And  now  Mr.  Kemys  going  off  to  New  Zealand 
at  a  moment's  notice,"  said  Mrs.  Eyewater,  giggling 
and  fingering  a  long  string  of  doubtful  pearls.  "  I 
should  think  you  must  be  quite  bewildered,  dear  An- 
nette; for  the  suddenness  of  his  departure  was  a 


ANNETTE  IN  LONDON  205 

shock  even  to  poor  little  me,  whom  he  scarcely 
vouchsafed  to  notice." 

'  Yes,  it  was  a  surprise,"  said  Annette,  rather  ab- 
sently, as  she  busied  herself  over  the  tea-table. 

"  It  was  unlucky  he  had  to  start  before  Easter," 
said  old  Mrs.  Kemys  cheerfully.  "  For  now  he  will 
miss  the  boys;  and  Roddy  will  of  course  be  settled 
in  the  Argentine  before  his  father  returns." 

Old  Mrs.  Kemys  often  told  her  daughter-in-law 
that  frankness  best  disarmed  the  curiosity  of  their 
neighbours. 

"  And  how  does  he  like  the  notion  of  Roddy's 
going  off  like  this?  "  said  Mrs.  Eyewater,  peering  in- 
quisitively forward. 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  liked  it  particularly.  Neither 
of  us  could  like  his  going  so  far  away,"  said  An- 
nette, grateful  for  the  alacrity  with  which  Mr. 
Meredydd  came  to  her  assistance. 

"Like  it!  I'm  lamenting  from  morning  till 
night.  But  we  must  all  give  way  to  the  young,  you 
know,"  said  the  rector.  "  We  are  tied  to  the  earth, 
and"  they  soar  far  above  us  in  their  ambitions  and 
their  aspirations.  Well,  well  —  they  generally 
knock  their  heads  against  the  stars  and  come  tum- 
bling down  to  our  level  again  in  the  end.  I  hope  the 
rheumatism  is  better,  Mrs.  Kemys?"  he  ended  ab- 
ruptly. ' 

"It  is  troubling  me  less  now  that  the  spring 
warmth  has  got  into  the  air,"  said  the  old  lady. 


206  THE  TYRANT. 

"  I  should  have  said  I  had  had  a  better  night  than 
usual  for  I  slept  till  I  was  called ;  only  that,  unluckily, 
I  dreamt  I  was  awake,  and  so  got  no  benefit  at 
all." 

"  Oh  Granny,  Howell  says  you  sleep  much  more 
than  you  think.  Perhaps  you  often  dream  you  are 
awake  when  you  are  really  asleep,"  cried  Sophy 
mischievously. 

"  Howell  talks  nonsense,  my  love,  and  so  do  you." 

"  It  must  be  dreadful  to  have  rheumatism,"  said 
the  poor  little  valiant  combatant  of  relentless  Time, 
whose  fingers  were  crippled  and  twisted  with  an- 
other form  of  the  complaint,  as  everyone  present 
knew  very  well.  "  Cynthia,  love,  do  hold  up. 
Sophy  sets  you  an  example." 

Miss  Cynthia  obediently  straightened  her  long 
drooping  figure,  clad  in  a  lace  and  muslin  blouse,  and 
bright  blue  skirt;  and  ornamented  by  a  tarnished 
gilt  belt  and  a  boa  from  which  the  moulting  feathers 
escaped  at  intervals,  floating  on  to  the  lawn,  or  dis- 
composing the  rector  by  settling  conspicuously  upon 
his  black  coat. 

"  I  told  you  Jack  and  I  were  to  spend  Easter  with 
my  sister  in  Cornwall,  did  I  not?  "  he  asked.  "  She 
insists  upon  it,  for  it  will  be  her  last  chance  of  seeing 
the  boy.  She  made  such  a  point  of  it  that  I  was 
obliged  to  give  in,  though,  I  do  not  like  being  away 
at  Easter." 

He  had  told  them  this  more  than  once,  but  it  ap- 


ANNETTE  IN  LONDON  207 

peared  that  he  had  now  an  additional  announcement 
to  make. 

"  I  had  arranged  with  my  old  friend,  Canon  Bret- 
tie,  to  take  the  duty,  but  I  am  sorry  to  say  he  can't 
come.  He  is  laid  up  with  a  severe  attack  of 
sciatica.  He  has  found  a  substitute  —  but  that  will 
not  be  at  all  the  same  thing." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  the  ladies,  in  a  polite  chorus, 
but  their  expression  became  alert.  Canon  Brettle 
was  an  old  friend,  but  the  thought  of  a  new  face  in 
Llanon  was  pleasant. 

"  Do  you  know  who  he  is  —  or  anything  about 
him?  "  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  voicing  the  curiosity  of  the 
rest. 

"  Oh  dear  yes,  he  is  the  brother  of  the  lady  who 
married  the  Bishop  the  other  day.  Cantrill  is  his 
name.  Oh  yes,  I  have  met  him ;  quiet,  gentlemanly, 
middle-aged  man;  a  member  of  our  archaelogical 
society.  No,  he  is  unmarried.  I'm  afraid  it  won't 
be  quite  like  having  dear  old  Brettle,"  said  the  rector, 
innocently.  "  However,  that  he  should  be  a  friend 
of  Brettle's  says  everything  in  his  favour." 

"  Cantrill  is  a  very  odd  name,"  said  Miss  Perina. 

"  Perina,  dearest,  don't  talk  so  loud.  I  am  always 
telling  you,"  said  her  mother,  in  lenient  but  reprov- 
ing tones.  "  Young  people  get  into  the  habit  of 
shouting  as  though  all  their  elders  were  deaf,"  she 
chattered,  turning  with  that  odd,  deprecating,  mon- 
key-like smile  upon  old  Mrs.  Kemys. 


208  THE  TYRANT 

"  I  cannot  say  that  is  my  experience,"  was  the 
dry  response.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  am  always  ac- 
cusing them  of  mumbling." 

The  visitors  went  away,  Sophy  and  the  little  boys 
accompanying  them  through  the  house  to  see  them  off, 
while  Annette  slowly  wheeled  her  mother-in- 
law's  chair  through  the  kitchen  garden  to  the  cot- 
tage. 

The  brown  earth  in  the  borders,  beautifully  raked, 
showed  pleasant  signs  of  life,  with  little  green  tokens 
pushing  their  way  through  the  mould.  The  baby 
gooseberries  were  swelling  on  bushes  hardly  yet  in 
leaf,  the  pear  trees  were  bursting  into  blossom. 

On  the  surrounding  hills,  newly  whitewashed 
brown-tiled  cottages,  each  in  its  little  bower  of 
orchard,  set  against  leafless  woods,  shone  in  the  set- 
ting sun.  The  evening  chorus  of  the  birds  was  al- 
most deafening;  untiring  little  builders  darted  to  and 
fro  among  the  tall  firs,  and  below  the  eaves  of  the 
woodshed  set  in  the  corner  of  the  cottage  enclosure, 
where  stacks  of  fresh-cut  fagots  lay,  and  branches 
ready  to  support  the  peas  and  beans,  which  were  now 
scarcely  three  inches  high. 

"  The  season  is  very  backward,"  said  old  Mrs. 
Kemys.  "  I  have  not  heard  the  cuckoo  yet.  Thank 
you,  my  dear.  Will  you  give  me  an  arm  upstairs  or 
shall  I  call  Howell?  " 

But  Howell  was  on  the  watch.  A  straitlaced 
elderly  servant  who  combined  the  offices  of  maid, 
nurse  and  cook  to  her  mistress,  and  who,  being  con- 


ANNETTE  IN  LONDON  209 

scious  of  her  own  invaluable  services,  was  not  always 
as  entirely  respectful  as  she  might  have  been. 

"  You're  out  too  late  for  your  rheumatics.  I  can't 
think  how  you  expect  to  get  better  at  this  rate.  Now 
we  shall  be  hearing  of  more  bad  nights,"  she  said, 
shaking  her  head. 

"  Don't  be  tiresome,  Howell,  and  shut  the  door. 
Mrs.  Richard  is  coming  upstairs,"  said  the  old  lady, 
sharply. 

Howell  perceived  that  the  time  for  remonstrance 
was  not  come,  so  wisely,  if  crossly,  retired  to  the 
kitchen. 

The  old  lady  settled  herself  in  the  usual  corner  of 
the  little  drawing-room,  and  looked  expectantly  at 
her  daughter-in-law. 

"  Dear  Granny,  you  must  have  thought  it  strange 
that  I  did  not  come  near  you  yesterday  evening  — 
nor  this  morning.  But  I  could  not  make  up  my 
mind  —  you  know  how  difficult  I  always  find  it  to 
be  decided  —  how  much  I  ought  to  tell  you  of  all  I 
have  been  doing." 

"Why  should  you  not  tell  me?  You  wouldn't 
surely  have  the  heart  to  leave  me  in  the  dark  won- 
dering day  and  night  what  you  are  keeping  back?  " 
said  the  old  lady,  querulously. 

"  I  do  not  want  Richard  to  be  able  to  blame  you 
when  he  comes  home.  If  you  know  nothing  he  can- 
not blame  you." 

'  You  have  done  something  which  will  anger  him 
when  he  comes  home?" 


210  THE  TYRANT 

"  After  seeing  Annie  yesterday  morning  I  called 
on  Mr.  Turley." 

"  You  called  on  Mr.  Turley?  " 

"  To  ask  his  advice  about  —  about  a  discovery 
I  have  made." 

"  A  discovery !  "  said  Richard's  mother,  looking 
alarmed.  "  Nothing  —  nothing  disgraceful  to 
Richard?" 

"  No,  no.  It  is  —  only  a  paper  —  on  the  strength 
of  which  Mr.  Turley  will  advance  me  as  much  money 
as  I  want  at  once,  in  the  certainty  that  Richard  will 
eventually  be  obliged  to  repay  him." 

"Is  that  all  —  a  paper?  I  don't  want  to  hear 
anything  about  it  if  that's  all,  and  if  it  would  make 
it  in  any  way  easier  for  you,  as  perhaps  it  might,  if 
I  knew  nothing.  The  more  discoveries  you  make  of 
that  kind,  and  the  more  money  Mr.  Turley  gives  you 
on  the  strength  of  those  discoveries  the  better  I  shall 
be  pleased,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys  in  great  relief.  "  I've 
always  told  you  I'm  certain  Richard  is  rolling  in 
wealth,  and  hoarding  his  money  like  his  great-grand- 
father the  miser.  It  is  that  which  makes  his  con- 
duct pass  my  patience.  Bless  mel  Do  you  mean 
that  old  Turley  will  give  you  the  thousand  pounds  for 
Rodric?" 

''That,  and  whatever  I  want  besides;  so  that  I 
can  get  all  that  is  wanted  for  Annie  at  once,  and  help 
Courtenay  out  of  his  little  difficulties  — 

"  Courtenay  too !  " 

"  Only  some  trifling  foolish  debts,  but  they  would 


ANNETTE  IN  LONDON  211 

have  been  made  the  excuse  to  take  him  away  from 
Oxford,  where  he  is  doing  well,  even  if  he  has  con- 
tracted extravagant  tastes  according  to  our  ideas. 
And  you  know  how  conscientious  the  poor  boy  is  — " 

"  Pig-headed  — "  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  impartially. 

"  Well  —  he  would  certainly  have  made  a  point 
of  confessing  his  obligations,  even  at  the  expense  of 
his  career  — " 

"  He  would  glory  in  such  a  sacrifice  to  his  con- 
science," said  Mrs.  Kemys,  shrugging  her  shoulders. 
"  Young  people  are  sad  fools,  my  dear.  It's  very 
aggravating  to  be  obliged  to  sit  still  and  watch  them 
slowly  and  obstinately  finding  out  for  themselves 
what  we  could  have  told  them  in  a  word  if  they 
would  but  listen  to  us." 

"  We  were  the  same  in  our  time.  We  never 
listened,"  said  Annette.  "  Dear  Granny,  I  can  face 
the  crisis  in  the  fates  of  two  of  them  now.  That  is 
something.  And  I  am  going  to  London  to-morrow 
to  buy  clothes  for  Annie,  and  to  get  a  proper  outfit 
for  my  boy." 

The  old  lady's  eyes  shone. 

"  You  are  really  plucking  up  spirit  at  last,"  she 
said,  almost  admiringly.  "  I  wish  I  could  come  with 
you  and  keep  up  your  courage.  As  it  is  I  shall  be 
trembling  till  you  return,  always  fancying  your  resolu- 
tion has  failed  and  that  you  are  busy  cabling  confes- 
sions to  Richard.  You  do  not  enjoy  outwitting  him 
as  I  should." 

"  No,  I  do  not  enjoy  it,"  said  Annette.     "  Never- 


212  THE  TYRANT 

theless  I  am  doing  it.  But  he  cannot  be  home  for 
three  or  four  months,  I  suppose.  Three  at  least. 
There  is  time  for  a  great  deal  to  happen  in  three 
months.  I  must  live  in  the  present,  and  leave  the 
future  to  take  care  of  itself,"  she  said  with  a  smile. 

Annette  found  herself  in  London  on  the  Monday 
evening,  but  instead  of  remaining  at  Paddington  as 
usual,  she  drove  across  to  Knightsbridge  and  en- 
gaged rooms  in  a  fashionable  hotel  there  close  to  the 
shops  she  intended  to  visit. 

Even  this  proceeding  seemed  reckless  to  the  poor 
lady,  whose  thin  cheeks  burned  with  nervousness  and 
excitement  as  she  contemplated  her  own  daring; 
seated  before  a  small  table  in  the  quiet  and  com- 
fortable grill-room  to  which  she  had  descended  for 
dinner. 

What  would  Richard  say,  her  innocent  unsuspect- 
ing husband,  who  had  wired  his  final  farewell  from 
Plymouth  that  morning,  and  was  now  on  his  way  to 
Teneriffe  —  if  he  could  see  her  now,  enjoying  asper- 
ges  en  branches  and  a  glass  of  Sauterne,  which  she 
had  selected  as  the  cheapest  white  wine  she  could 
find  on  the  list? 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  Mrs.  Kemys  did  not 
look  so  defiant  nor  so  enterprising  as  she  felt.  A 
gentle  retiring  middle-aged  lady,  obviously  from  the 
country,  dressed  in  the  plainest  of  black  silks,  with  a 
point  de  Venise  collar  fastened  by  an  old-fashioned 
pearl  brooch  —  she  sat  sipping  white  claret  diluted 


ANNETTE  IN  LONDON  213 

with  yellow  London  water,  and  waited  patiently  be- 
tween the  courses  until  the  waiters  saw  fit  to  give  her 
the  attention  she  was  far  too  timid  to  claim. 

The  secret  sense  of  guilt  which  now  oppressed  her 
was  almost  doubled  by  the  consciousness  that  she 
was  enjoying  her  independence  in  spite  of  herself;  and 
she  was  really  shocked  by  the  pleasure  with  which  she 
dwelt  upon  the  prospect  of  the  morrow's  shopping. 

She  observed  her  fellow  diners  with  interest. 
The  party  of  American  sightseers;  the  handsome 
couple  en  route  for  the  theatre;  the  buxom  wealthy 
widow  who  was  evidently  an  habitue,  and  like  her- 
self staying  in  the  hotel;  and  who  though  she  was 
dining  alone,  was  drinking  champagne  and  having 
the  best  of  everything;  the  shy  young  man,  who  ate 
as  fast  as  he  could  and  read  the  evening  paper  as 
he  ate;  the  magnificent  head  waiter  and  his  youthful 
pale-faced  staff.  Everyone  and  everything  inter- 
ested her.  She  thought  regretfully  that  old  Mrs. 
Kemys  too  would  have  enjoyed  this  outing  had  her 
crippled  condition  rendered  it  possible  for  her  to  un- 
dertake it. 

When  she  had  dined  she  went  upstairs  into  the 
lounge  where  she  was  told  the  orchestra  would  play 
later,  and  found  herself  a  quiet  corner  beneath  a 
sheltering  palm,  where  she  could  listen  and  look  un- 
observed. 

A  large  party  of  young  people  came  and  sat  around 
the  little  coffee-tables  close  by. 

The  solitary  watcher  noted  almost  enviously  the 


2i4  THE  TYRANT 

flowing  satin  gowns,  the  delicate  chiffons  veiling  fair 
necks  and  bosoms,  the  shining  pearls  and  pretty 
flushed  powdered  faces  and  wonderful  waves  of  rip- 
pling hair,  under  the  rose-shaded  electric  light. 

Her  visions  of  the  morning  shopping  paled  in 
glory.  It  was  not  the  mere  expenditure  of  money, 
she  reflected,  but  time  and  knowledge  and  taste,  that 
went  to  the  production  of  the  exquisite  finish  of  these 
dainty  maidens'  apparel. 

Her  eyes  were  not  sufficiently  trained  to  recognise 
at  a  glance,  as  a  Londoner  would  recognise,  the  dif- 
ference between  real  and  artificially  aided  beauty; 
and  thinking  of  the  homeliness  of  Annie's  attire,  she 
began  to  wonder  if  after  all  she  had  allowed  her 
maternal  pride  to  prejudice  her  unduly  in  favour  of 
her  child's  good  looks. 

The  music  now  beginning  softly  dispelled  her 
doubts,  and  lulled  her  into  a  blissful  content  with 
the  world.  Like  most  highly  strung  and  imagina- 
tive persons  Annette  was  ultra-sensitive  to  the  in- 
fluence of  music.  Every  variation  of  melody 
affected  her  emotional  nature.  The  grand  march 
from  Tannhauser  revived  her  melting  courage  and 
inspired  her  with  determination  enough  to  defy  a 
dozen  Richards;  a  morsel  from  Greig  gave  her  back 
her  tender  dreams  of  Annie's  loveliness ;  Mascagni's 
Intermezzo  resolved  itself  into  a  wordless  prayer  for 
her  child's  happiness;  a  selection  from  Carmen  re- 
stored her  joyous  anticipations  of  the  morrow ;  and  a 
Mexican  Lullaby  soothed  her  so  effectually  that  in- 


ANNETTE  IN  LONDON  215 

stead  of  lying  awake  all  night  after  her  journey,  she 
slept  soundly  for  the  first  time  since  Richard's  de- 
parture. 

In  the  grey  London  morning  she  opened  her  eyes 
with  a  quite  unwonted  sensation  of  vigour  and  hope- 
fulness. 

Something  of  her  old  spirit  and  energy  appeared 
to  reanimate  her.  As  she  made  her  simple  toilet 
she  found  herself  humming  a  tune,  and  was  so  sur- 
prised that  she  smiled  at  her  own  reflection  in  the 
glass. 

She  had  written  a  little  note  to  Roddy  on  the 
previous  night,  telling  him  she  had  come  up  to  town 
to  do  some  shopping  and  asking  him  to  dine  with  her 
early  to  go  to  a  theatre.  She  felt  that  the  busi- 
ness of  the  day  would  keep  her  so  fully  occupied  that 
it  would  be  better  not  to  attempt  to  make  an  earlier 
appointment,  much  as  she  longed  to  see  her  son. 

She  breakfasted  early,  and  was  out  and  about  al- 
most before  the  shops  were  open;  carrying  her 
shabby  purse,  now  heavily  weighted;  and  the  list  of 
commissions  which  she  had  compiled  during  her 
journey  with  anxious  care. 

A  customer  who  arrived  at  such  an  hour,  who  was 
so  quietly  dressed,  and  so  timid  in  manner  as  Mrs. 
Kemys,  received  but  indifferent  attention,  until  the 
extent  of  her  purchases  aroused  respect  in  the  inter- 
ested minds  of  the  sellers. 

She  returned  to  her  grill-room  for  luncheon  much 
excited  by  her  purchases,  and  after  luncheon  she 


216  THE  TYRANT 

plunged  once  more  into  her  work,  almost  recklessly 
extending  her  list  of  necessaries  for  Annie's  pro- 
jected visit,  that  it  might  embrace  luxuries  hitherto 
undreamed-of. 

By  the  end  of  the  long  afternoon  she  began  to 
feel  the  fatigue  of  such  unwonted  exertions  in  the 
close  atmosphere  of  London  drapery  establishments, 
and  much  of  her  pleasure  and  excitement  conse- 
quently died  away.  At  six  o'clock  she  went  into  the 
park,  for  the  weather  was  unusually  warm  for  the 
time  of  year,  and  sat  under  the  trees,  to  rest  herself 
in  the  open  air. 

The  evening  freshness  cooled  her  feverish  cheeks, 
and  the  novelty  of  the  scene  amused  and  interested 
her.  She  was  begining  to  wonder  if  it  were  time  to 
return  to  her  hotel  and  prepare  for  Roddy's  arrival, 
when  she  perceived  in  the  distance  a  tall  broad  young 
man,  wearing  a  light  overcoat,  over  evening  dress, 
and  walking  with  a  swing  that  seemed  familiar.  A 
young  man  with  bold  blue  eyes  and  dimpled  chin 
and  with  rather  a  chubby  cherubic  face  which  con- 
trasted funnily  with  his  sturdy  breadth  of  shoulder. 

"  Roddy!  "  cried  his  mother. 

Her  tone  was  too  rapturous  for  so  public  a  greet- 
ing, and  Roddy's  manner  was  repressive  though  kind, 
as  he  led  his  parent  back  to  her  chair  under  the 
trees. 

"  I  thought  I'd  come  early,  in  case  you'd  like  to 
take  a  little  turn  before  dinner,"  he  explained.  "  I 
say,  mater,  this  is  a  rum  go.  My  father  going  off 


ANNETTE  IN  LONDON  217 

like  this.     He  wrote  me  a  beastly  letter  before  he 


went." 


"Oh,  Roddy,  my  boy— " 

"  Hush  —  they'll  hear,"  he  said,  glancing  appre- 
hensively at  the  people  on  the  nearest  chairs;  who, 
as  it  happened,  were  perfectly  absorbed  in  their  own 
affairs;  but  the  young  are  hyper-sensitive  to  the  possi- 
bilities of  critical  or  quizzical  observation.  He 
lowered  his  own  tones. 

"  I  suppose  he  means  what  he  says,  mother?  I'm 
to  be  cut  out  of  —  of  everything  if  I  go  to  the  Argen- 
tine; and  of  course  I  shall  go,"  said  Roddy,  gravely. 
:'  The  more  I've  thought  it  over  the  less  I've  re- 
gretted my  determination.  Even  if  I  stuck  to  old 
Jacobs  &  Goldstein  he'd  find  an  excuse  for  quarrel- 
ling with  me  sooner  or  later.  The  governor's  never 
liked  me ;  or  anyway  never  since  I  began  to  grow  up 
and  hold  my  own  a  bit ;  and  the  sooner  I'm  independ- 
ent of  him  the  better.  But  I  do  think  he  might  have 
hardened  his  heart  to  part  with  that  one  thousand 
out  of  all  his  hoards,  and  let  me  have  it  to  start 
with." 

"  But  Roddy,  my  darling,  that  is  why  I  wanted  to 
see  you  —  it  will  be  all  right,"  she  said  breathless 
with  eagerness.  "  You  are  to  have  your  money  — " 

Roddy  turned  upon  her,  pursing  up  his  boyish  lips 
that  were  so  full  and  rosy  still,  as  if  he  were  about  to 
whistle.  He  opened  his  light  blue  eyes  with  the 
guileless  look  in  them  that  she  remembered  so  well 
in  her  father's  kind  and  gentle  face. 


2i8  THE  TYRANT 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  he  gave  way  — " 

"No,  no,  but— " 

"  Was  it  poor  Granny  after  all?  "  cried  Rodric. 

"  No.  It  was  not  Granny.  It  was  I  who  found 
that  I  —  I  could  manage  to  let  you  have  the  money, 
Roddy.  It  is  all  right.  Just  what  you  wanted.  A 
thousand  pounds,"  she  said,  trying  to  smile  gaily, 
and  vexed  with  herself  because  that  novel  sensation 
of  guilt  made  her  falter,  and  caused  her  heart  to  beat, 
and  her  colour  to  vary  uncomfortably. 

What  would  Roddy  say  if  he  knew  how  she  had 
obtained  the  money?  She  felt  uneasily  that  she 
could  not  be  sure.  She  had  often  dwelt  with  pride 
upon  her  certainty  that  her  boys  had  inherited  their 
grandfather's  delicate  and  scrupulous  sense  of  honour. 
But  Roddy  was  not  to  know.  She  had  taken  this 
burden  upon  her  shoulders  for  her  children's  sake, 
and  must  certainly  not  suffer  them  to  share  it  with 
her. 

"  You !  "  said  Roddy  incredulously.  "  What  do 
you  mean,  mother?  " 

She  tried  to  smile  and  to  take  his  hand;  for  once 
unobservant  of  his  dismay  at  so  public  a  demonstra- 
tion. 

"  Dear  Roddy,  can't  you  be  content  to  know  that 
I  am  giving  it  to  you?  " 

"No,  I  can't,"  he  said  bluntly.  "I'd  rather 
know  where  you  got  it,  and  if  my  father  knows  any- 
thing about  it.  You  see,"  he  explained,  giving  her 
hand  an  affectionate  squeeze  and  taking  the  oppor- 


ANNETTE  IN  LONDON  219 

tunity  to  restore  it  to  her  covertly.  "  I  like  every- 
thing to  be  open  and  above-board,  and  to  know 
exactly  to  whom  I  am  indebted;  since  it  can't  really 
be  to  you,  mother  dear.  You  know  perfectly  well 
you  haven't  any  money  to  give  me,  much  less  a 
thousand  pounds." 

"  But  it  is  to  me  you  are  —  indebted,"  she  said, 
recovering  her  presence  of  mind  with  the  recollec- 
tion that  she  could  quiet  Roddy's  uneasiness  by  a 
word.  "  Of  course  your  father,  does  not  know,  but 
he  will  know  when  he  comes  home.  Mr.  Turley  ad- 
vised me  that  I  was  entitled  to  claim  some  money 
under  a  deed  executed  at  the  time  of  my  marriage  — " 

"What  deed?" 

"  Dear  Roddy,  I  cannot  go  into  details  with  you 
now.  Your  father  will  be  told  when  he  returns  and 
perhaps  you  will  hear  all  about  it  then.  Surely  it 
is  sufficient  for  you  when  I  tell  you  that  Mr.  Turley 
is  advising  me;  and  that  he  made  no  difficulty  at  all 
in  advancing  me  all  the  money  I  wanted  upon  the 
security  thus  offered  him.  He  is  not  letting  me  have 
it  as  a  favour.  I  could  not  have  accepted  that," 
said  poor  Mrs.  Kemys,  holding  her  head  high. 

"If  old  Turley  is  satisfied,  of  course  it's  all  right," 
said  Roddy.  "  He's  not  like  that  little  brute  of  a 
Machon.  Of  course  I'd  rather  have  heard  all 
about  it  —  but  still  —  so  long  as  somebody 
knows  — " 

"You  wouldn't  trust  me?"  she  said,  trying  to 
speak  playfully. 


220  THE  TYRANT 

"  One  doesn't  expect  ladies  to  understand  business 
and  so  on,"  said  Roddy,  apologetically.  "  But  old 
Turley —  that's  a  very  different  thing."  His  brow 
cleared.  "I  say,  mother,  you  are  a  trump.  But 
I  say,  by  Jove  —  won't  he  be  furious  when  he  comes 
back  and  finds  out?  What  will  you  do  then?  " 

She  had  asked  herself  the  question  with  a  sinking 
heart  many  times  already;  but  she  answered  lightly. 

"  By  that  time  your  going  to  the  Argentine  will 
be  ancient  history.  And  I  shall  leave  old  Turley 
to  settle  it  with  him.  It  is  he  who  will  actually  ad- 
vance this  money — " 

"  Do  you  mean  I  shall  have  to  pay  him  back?  " 

"  No,  no,  no,  my  dearest  boy.  It  is  mine,  and  it 
shall  be  yours  —  whatever  happens,"  she  said, 
tightening  the  clasp  of  her  thin  hands  on  each  other. 
"  Yours  with  your  mother's  love  and  all  her  bless- 
ing," she  said,  looking  at  him  with  tears  in  her  tired 
eyes. 

"  Well  —  you'll  see  it  will  be  all  right  then,"  said 
Roddy  sturdily.  "  Jack  and  I  and  the  others  mean 
business.  There's  not  a  slacker  among  us,  you  know. 
That's  settled."  He  leant  back  with  an  air  of  re- 
lief, and  turned  his  jolly  fresh-coloured  face  towards 
her,  with  the  cherubic  smile  that  had  outlived  his 
childhood.  "  I  say,  I  didn't  know  what  you'd  like 
to  see,  mother,  so  I  got  tickets  for  a  musical  comedy 
show.  And  then  I  was  afraid  afterwards  you'd 
have  preferred  Shakespeare  or  something  poetic  of 
that  kind."  He  looked  at  her  anxiously. 


ANNETTE  IN  LONDON  221 

"  My  dear  boy,  so  long  as  I  am  with  you,  and  you 
are  amused,  what  can  it  matter  to  me?"  she  said, 
wondering. 

;'  Well,  that's  all  right.  It's  a  ripping  piece. 
I've  seen  it  three  times  already." 

"  Three  times.  You  go  to  the  theatre  so  oft- 
en?" 

"  I  don't  often  pay,"  said  Roddy  in  exculpatory 
tones.  "  One  pays  for  this  kind  of  show,  of  course 
—  with  the  funniest  man  in  London  playing  and  Sally 
Sims." 

"  You  don't  often  pay !  " 

"  I  often  get  paper.  Don't  bother  about  that, 
mother.  Of  course  you  don't  understand.  Any- 
way it's  very  little  expense,"  he  said,  impatiently. 
"  And  talking  of  expense,  how  came  you  to  put  up 
at  one  of  the  dearest  pubs  in  London?  Didn't  you 
know,  or  what?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  knew.  I  am  not  perhaps  quite  as 
ignorant  as  you  think  me,"  she  said,  with  a  faint 
amused  smile.  "  I  thought,  dear  Roddy,  that  it 
might  be  many  a  long  day  before  you  and  I  had  a 
little  treat  together  again,  and  that  it  would  be  pleas- 
ant and  brighter  for  you  to  come  here.  And  I 
shan't  be  so  busy  to-morrow,  if  you  can  get  a  day 
off,  and  take  me  to  see  anything  you  fancy;  it  is  so 
long  since  I  went  anywhere  or  saw  anything.  I 
should  like  to  go  to  the  Academy,  if  it  doesn't  bore 
you.  I  could  stay  until  you  come  down  to  Nantg- 
wilt  —  you  and  Courtenay  will  escort  me  home,  won't 


224  THE  TYRANT 

you?  But  we  shall  have  to  be  busy  too  —  for  there 
is  your  outfit  to  think  of  now." 

"  I  say  —  old  Turley  must  have  been  going  it," 
said  Rodric,  growing  red  with  pleasure.  "  I  didn't 
like  to  say  anything  about  it,  mother,  but  I  want  all 
sorts  of  things.  I  was  going  to  do  with  as  little  as 
I  could,  but  — " 

"  We  will  draw  up  a  list  of  all  the  things  you 
ought  to  have,"  said  his  mother,  glowing  in  sym- 
pathy with  his  evident  and  unconcealed  delight. 
"  And  Roddy  dear,  you  needn't  think  too  much  about 
economy.  Just  for  this  once  —  you  must  have,  not 
only  what  is  absolutely  necessary,  but  the  best  —  the 
very  best  that  I  can  give  you,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  as 
vehemently  as  though  she  were  defying  some  unseen 
power. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SOPHY    IN    HER    ELEMENT 

WHEN  Mrs.  Kemys  returned  from  London  she  was 
escorted  by  both  her  sons,  who  observed  the  extent 
and  the  newness  of  her  baggage  with  an  amaze 
which,  man-like,  they  concealed  by  silence. 

She  had  not  thought  it  advisable  to  ask  Courtenay 
to  join  her  in  London,  for  the  brothers  were  not 
much  less  inclined  to  quarrel  now  than  they  had  been 
in  their  early  boyhood,  and  she  had  longed  for  a  few 
days'  quiet  converse  with  her  first-born,  who  was 
presently  to  go  so  far  away  from  her. 

Sophy  appeared  on  the  door-step  of  the  Manor 
House  to  receive  her  mother,  with  a  little  brother 
dancing  on  either  hand.  Since  old  Mrs.  Sharman's 
departure  to  Artramont,  whither  she  had  gone  to 
attend  upon  Annie  during  her  visit  to  the  Yoraths, 
Sophy  had  been  in  her  element. 

She  had  always,  as  she  often  complained  to  her- 
self, been  kept  in  the  background;  but  in  the  .absence 
of  her  mother  and  elder  sister  her  opportunity  had 
come,  and  she  had  not  been  slow  to  take  advantage 
of  it. 

Her  display  of  energy  had  almost  paralysed  her 
grandmother. 

223 


224  THE  TYRANT 

"  I  shall  make  it  my  business  to  see  that  Granny 
lacks  no  attention  that  she  is  accustomed  to,  in  con- 
sequence of  Mamma's  absence,"  said  Sophy,  though 
she  was  well  aware  that  she  was  not  one  of  her  grand- 
mother's favourites.  "  But  because;  she  is  unfair 
there  is  no  reason  that  /  should  be  undutiful,"  she 
remarked  to  Sharman  one  morning  when  old  Mrs. 
Kemys  had  received  her  well-meant  advances  more 
ungraciously  than  usual.  "  If  it  had  been  Annie  she 
would  have  been  delighted,  but  because  it  is  /  who 
carried  her  over  a  pot  from  the  conservatory,  she  only 
says  I  am  officious,  and  that  if  she  wants  flowers  she 
can  ask  the  gardener  for  them." 

"  Well,  Miss  Sophy,  you  shouldn't  take  so  much 
on  yourself,"  was  Sharman's  snubbing  response  to 
this  confidence.  It  was  no  wonder  that  Sophy  re- 
joiced when  Sharman  received  orders  to  go  over  to 
Artramont  and  leave  the  little  boys  to  their  sister's 
care. 

Sophy  took  great  care  of  her  little  brothers,  but 
her  reign  was  a  despotic  one,  and  the  thought  that 
it  was  over  doubled  their  joy  in  their  mother's  re- 
turn. 

Roddy  and  Courtenay  had  nothing  more  striking 
to  observe  than  "  Hallo,  Sophy!  "  and  "  Well  Sophia, 
how  are  you?  "  by  way  of  greeting  to  their  sister ;  but 
while  her  mother  was  absorbed  by  the  boisterous  wel- 
come of  the  little  boys,  and  Roddy  in  lending  a  hand 
with  the  luggage  which  threatened  to  overbalance 
the  rickety  station  cab,  Sophy  slipped  her  arm 


SOPHY  IN  HER  ELEMENT        225 

through  Courtenay's  and  hurried  him  away  to  the 
drawing-room. 

"  I  have  got  the  tea  ready  for  you  all,  but  oh 
Courtenay,  I  must  say  a  word  to  you  alone.  I  want 
to  ask  you  —  but  first  —  what  do  you  think  of  my 
frock?  "  she  cried  breathlessly. 

"  What  do  I  think  of  your  frock?  I  don't  see 
anything  the  matter  with  it.  What  on  earth  are  you 
so  excited  about?"  said  Courtenay  unsympathetic- 
ally. 

"  Don't  you  see  it's  new?  Mamma  sent  it  down 
from  London.  Courtenay,  what  does  it  all  mean?  " 

'  What  does  what  all  mean?  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
be  so  cryptic,"  said  Courtenay,  with  unruffled  dignity 
and  entire  want  of  interest. 

"  Hasn't  Mamma  said  anything  to  you?  Hasn't 
she  offered  any  explanation?" 

"  I've  not  .had  two  words  with  her.  I  only  met 
them  at  the  station.  What  are  you  driving  at? 
Do  you  mean  —  yes,  she  did  whisper  something 
about  its  being  all  right,  and  I  mustn't  worry  over 
my  debts.  Have  you  been  telling  her,  you  little  idiot, 
about  those  trumpery  book  bills  of  mine?  I  thought 
you'd  have  had  more  sense  than  to  go  worrying  her 
about  that,"  said  Courtenay  ungratefully.  "  I  shall 
never  trust  you  again.  And  she  needn't  have  known 
about  them  at  all,  for  now  Papa's  gone,  I  don't  care 
how  much  I'm  dunned  since  it  won't  come  to  his 
ears."  Sophy  looked  so  mortified  that  he  relented. 
"  Besides,  I've  some  literary  work  offered  me  now, 


226  THE  TYRANT 

which  may  enable  me  to  pay  off  all  I  owe  for  myself," 
he  said  importantly. 

"  Literary  work !  "  said  Sophy  as  awestruck  as  the 
most  exacting  of  brothers  could  wish  an  adoring, 
sister  to  be;  though  the  subject  uppermost  in  her  own 
mind  prevented  her  from  pursuing  further  enquiries 
for  the  moment  upon  the  topic  most  interesting  to 
Courtenay.  "  But  I  wasn't  thinking  of  your  bills, 
Courtenay,  I  was  thinking  of  Mamma's  goings-on." 

"What  goings-on?"  said  Courtenay,  startled,  as 
well  he  might  be. 

"Why  her  rushing  up  to  London  directly  Papa 
had  started,  and  giving  orders  for  Sharman  to  go 
and  act  as  maid  to  Annie  at  Artramont ;  and  sending 
a  trunk  full  of  new  clothes,  for  she  wrote  and  told 
Sharman  she  needn't  take  a  single  one  of  Annie's  old 
ones.  And  the  things  that  have  come  down  from 
the  Stores  —  house-linen,  and  provisions,  and  new 
suits  for  the  little  boys  — "  Sophy  grew  breathless 
over  her  rapid  enumeration  of  her  mother's  enormi- 
ties — "  and  she  staying  at  an  expensive  hotel  and 
taking  Roddy  to  theatres  and  getting  him  his  outfit, 
for  she  mentioned  it  all  in  her  letter  to  me  yesterday. 
What  would  Papa  say?  When  he  wouldn't  even 
hear  of  Roddy  going  at  all  and  threatened  to  cut  him 
off  with  a  shilling  and  stop  his  allowance!  And  now 
Granny  says  he  is  to  go  after  all,  and  get  his  thousand 
pounds  and  everything,"  said  Sophy. 

"  I  suppose  the  governor  caved  in  before  he 
started,"  said  Courtenay. 


SOPHY  IN  HER  ELEMENT        227 

"  How  could  he  ?  Mamma  "hasn't  seen  him  since 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  go,  and  when  his  last  tele- 
gram came  she  turned  as  white  as  a  sheet  and 
crumpled  it  up  and  dropped  it  on  the  floor  and  went 
out  of  the  room.  And  I  picked  it  up  and  read  it, 
and  it  said  Determination  unchanged.  Desire  sub- 
ject dropped!  " 

'  You  little  skunk.  You  don't  mean  you  read 
it?  "  cried  Courtenay. 

u  It  wasn't  a  letter,"  said  Sophy  defiantly,  but  she 
grew  very  red.  "  Just  a  telegram  1  I  thought  any- 
one could  read  a  telegram.  And  how  did  I  know? 
It  might  have  been  bad  news  —  something  I  ought 
to  know." 

"  Something  you  ought  to  know  1  "  derisively. 

"  I  gave  it  to  Mamma  when  she  came  back  to  look 
for  it,  and  she  never  scolded  me.  You  are  very  un- 
kind, Courtenay,  and  me  that  was  so  glad  you  were 
coming  back  and  saving  up  everything  to  tell  you," 
said  Sophy,  showing  an  inclination  to  weep. 

"  Girls  have  no  sense  of  honour,"  said  Courtenay, 
sternly. 

"  Anyway  they  are  not  as  selfish  and  horrid  and 
disagreeable  as  boys,"  said  Sophy,  with  trembling 
lips. 

"  It  sounds  rather  absurd,  do  you  know,  for  a  chit 
of  seventeen  to  talk  to  a  fellow  of  my  age  as  a  boy," 
said  Courtenay. 

"  It  would  sound  more  absurd  if  I  called  him  a 
man,"  retorted  Sophy. 


228  THE  TYRANT 

Courtenay  shrugged  his  shoulders,  walked  to  the 
window  and  whistled.  Then  he  turned  round  and 
perceiving  Sophy's  flaxen  head  prone  upon  the 
cushions  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa  by  the  tea  table, 
his  conscience  pricked  him. 

In  his  heart  he  knew  he  had  a  very  devoted  and 
loyal  little  sister,  and  Sophy's  faultiness  had  in  many 
ways  served  him  better  than  Annie's  high-minded- 
ness. 

"  Look  here,  I  say,  don't  be  a  donkey,  Sophy. 
Here  are  the  others  coming,"  he  said  awkwardly. 

"  Let  them  come,"  said  Sophy,  inaudibly. 

"  Oh,  all  right.  If  you  don't  want  to  make  it  up," 
he  said  in  injured  tones. 

Sophy  lifted  her  head  and  wiped  her  eyes. 

"  You've  changed  and  grown  stuck-up,  if  a  fellow 
can't  say  a  word  without  making  you  blub  in  this 
rotten  manner,"  he  said,  descending  to  the  slang  he 
despised  in  his  anxiety  to  mollify  Sophy.  "  You 
used  to  be  jolly  and  affectionate  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing  when  I  came  home  —  but  I  suppose  it's  noth- 
ing to  you  —  now !  " 

Her  arms  were  round  his  neck,  and  she  was  stand- 
ing on  tiptoe  pressing  her  hot  cheeks  and  tearful  eyes 
against  his  smooth  young  face. 

"  Oh,  Courtenay,  Courtenay,  how  can  you  say  so, 
when  you  know  how  glad  I  was  to  see  you  — " 

;'  Well,  all  right,  take  care,  you'll  rumple  my  col- 
lar," he  said,  kissing  her  hastily,  and  releasing  him- 
self from  the  hug  which  she  was  bestowing  upon  him 


SOPHY  IN  HER  ELEMENT         229 

in  an  agony  of  self-reproach.  "  And  I  say,  you 
might  run  and  get  my  yellow  book-bag  out  of  the 
hall.  I  don't  want  it  taken  up  stairs.  Since  Papa 
is  away,  I  might  just  as  well  do  my  work  in  his  study, 
and  I  mean  to  ask  Mother  to  let  me." 

Sophy  had  sped  upon  his  errand  almost  before  her 
brain  could  grasp  the  audacity  of  this  proposal;  she 
reached  the  hall  in  time  to  hear  Manuel's  artless 
communication  to  his  mother. 

"  It's  been  horrid  without  you,  Mammy.  When 
Sophy's  cross  she's  a  beast!  " 

The  word  came  oddly  from  the  cherubic  lips. 
'  You  ungrateful  imp,"  cried  the  justly  indignant 
sister. 

"  Don't  be  a  tell-tale,"  said  Corney,  admonishing 
his  little  brother  severely.  "  Mother,  do  you  know 
the  new  parson's  been  here  twice.  He  walked  round 
and  round  the  garden  ever  so  many  times  with  Sophy, 
and  he  gave  me  a  shilling." 

Mrs.  Kemys  looked  enquiringly  at  her  daughter, 
now  busily  engaged  in  extricating  the  yellow  bag 
from  the  heap  of  luggage  in  the  hall.  The  heaviness 
of  Courtenay's  books  might  have  accounted  for  the 
redness  of  Sophy's  face. 

"  It  was  only  Mr.  Cantrill,  Mamma.  Surely  you 
can't  have  forgotten  about  his  coming,"  said  Sophy. 
"  He  arrived  the  day  before  Mr.  Meredydd  and 
Jack  went  away.  Everybody  is  charmed  with  him. 
I  met  him  at  the  Eyewaters  and  he  walked  back  with 
me,  and  —  and  the  two  front  doors  being  so  close, 


23o  THE  TYRANT 

I  thought  you  would  wish  me  to  ask  him  in  and  see 
the  garden,  the  wallflowers  being  just  at  their  best. 
He  said  he  was  fond  of  gardening.  Of  course  I 
sent  for  the  children  as  chaperons,"  said  Sophy,  with 
dignity.  "  I  assure  you  he  is  a  great  acquisition. 
We  have  met  over  the  Easter  decorations  and  he 
showed  me  lots  of  interesting  things  in  the  church 
that  I'd  never  noticed  though  I've  been  there  all  my 
life.  But  of  course  I  couldn't  ask  him  to  stay  to  tea, 
being  alone,  even  at  the  risk  of  seeming  inhospit- 
able." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  so  prudent,  Sophy,"  said  her 
mother,  as  gravely  as  she  could. 

The  explanation  of  her  sudden  wealth  which  Mrs. 
Kemys  had  given  to  Roddy,  and  which  Sophy's  curi- 
osity obliged  her  to  repeat,  easily  satisfied  her  second 
son,  who  seldom  bestowed  much  attention  on  any- 
thing outside  of  his  own  concerns.  She  would  not, 
however,  consent  to  Courtenay's  proposal  that  he 
should  occupy  the  study  during  his  father's  absence, 
and  suggested  that  he  should  content  himself  with  the 
smoking  room. 

"  But  Roddy  is  always  in  and  out,"  said  Courte- 
nay,  who  was  unpacking  his  precious  books. 

"  Surely,  dear  boy,  in  the  few  days  you  have  here 
together,  you  could  put  your  college  work  aside  and 
enjoy  your  holiday.  You  will  not  see  Roddy  again, 
perhaps,  for  years." 


SOPHY  IN  HER  ELEMENT         231 

"  You  do  not  understand,  dear  mother."  Cour- 
tenay  was  very  tall  and  thin  and  narrow-chested,  with 
the  pale  short-sighted  eyes  of  the  student;  he  smiled 
down  upon  his  mother  from  a  great  height,  and  the 
smile  expressed  but  a  little  of  the  superiority  he  felt. 
"  I  have  my  literary  work  to  do." 

"  Literary  work?  "  she  said,  bewildered. 

"  I  told  you  he  was  writing,  Mamma,"  said  Sophy 
delighted,  "  but  you  never  pay  any  attention  to  what 
/  say." 

Courtenay  frowned  at  his  sister. 

"  This  is  not  the  work  to  which  Sophy  refers,  that 
I  could  put  aside.  But  this  is  a  commission." 

"  A  commission!  " 

"  Reviewing,"  he  explained  in  an  off-hand  way, 
pointing  to  a  heap  of  books. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  to  criticise  the  work 
of  real  authors?  "  cried  Sophy,  gasping. 

"  What  else  could  reviewing  mean?  "  said  Courte- 
nay, trying  to  look  more  amused  than  annoyed. 
u  Why  should  I  not  be  a  critic  as  well  as  another 
man?  I  can  write  English,  I  hope." 

"  Is  that  all  that  is  wanted?  "  said  Sophy,  with 
unconscious  satire. 

Mrs.  Kemys  took  one  of  the  volumes  in  her  hand 
and  looked  doubtfully  at  her  son,  and  Rodric  looked 
over  her  shoulder.  It  appeared  to  be  an  abstruse 
work  of  a  theological  character,  and  the  writer  mod- 
estly confessed  in  the  preface  that  the  results  of  a 


232  THE  TYRANT 

life-time's  study  were  compressed  between  its  pages. 

Courtenay  interpreted  her  expression  in  his  own 
way. 

"  It  is  all  right,  dear  mother.  Are  you  afraid  I 
shall  be  very  severe  with  the  poor  old  gentleman?  " 
he  said  smiling  benignly.  "  His  discoveries  are 
slightly  antiquated  and  his  language  archaical,  and  I 
may  allow  myself  to  be  a  little  satirical  over  his  as- 
sumption that  there  is  anything  left  to  say  on  the  sub; 
ject  he  has  chosen;  but  I  assure  you  I  shall  let  him 
down  very  gently." 

"  What  an  ass  you  are,  Courtenay,"  said  Roddy, 
bursting  into  a  laugh.  "  Can't  you  see  my  mother's 
wondering  how  you  have  the  cheek  to  think  anyone 
would  care  to  have  your  opinion  ?  " 

"  Why  shouldn't  they  care !  "  cried  the  indignant 
Sophy.  "  He's  an  Oxford  man." 

"  He's  an  Oxford  undergraduate,  my  dear,  though 
I  bet  he's  been  writing  such  pompous  letters  that  his 
editor  believes  him  to  be  a  don  at  least  — " 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  editors  are  not  so  ill-informed 
on  the  subject  of  the  identity  of — " 

"  Lord,  if  the  bald-headed  old  buffer  who  wrote 
this  book  with  his  heart's  blood  could  see  the  beard- 
less stripling  — " 

"  Boys,  boys,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  endeavouring  to 
interpose. 

"  It  is  not  age,  but  ability,  that  counts  in  these  mat- 
ters," thundered  Courtenay.  "  One  would  imagine 
I  was  undertaking  a  herculean  task,  whereas  it  is  far 


SOPHY  IN  HER  ELEMENT        233 

easier  to  review  a  dull  book  of  this  stamp  than  to 
write  it." 

;<  That  I  can  well  believe,"  said  Roddy,  with  a 
shout  of  laughter. 

"  One  is  never  a  prophet  in  one's  own  country," 
said  Courtenay,  with  heightened  colour.  "  I  shall 
give  the  whole  of  my  conscientious  attention  to  this 
work  as  I  should  to  any  other  upon  which  I  had  to 
pass  judgment,  even  if  it  were  mere  fiction.  It  may 
be  that  some  authors  would  prefer  young  and  con- 
scientious critics  to  old  and  hardened  ones,  who 
might  give  only  half  attention  to  their  books." 

"  Old  and  hardened  critics  have  probably  learnt  to 
see  at  a  glance  which  books  are  worth  their  conscien- 
tious attention,  and  which  aren't,"  retorted  Roddy. 

"  It  is  fortunate  that  my  editor  has  a  greater  belief 
in  my  literary  powers  than  my  family  appear  to 
have,"  said  Courtenay  bitterly. 

Roddy  suddenly  perceived  that  his  brother  was 
struggling  with  a  mortification  that  threatened  to 
choke  him,  so  being  good-natured  in  the  main  he  took 
himself  off,  whistling  loudly,  and  Mrs.  Kemys  made 
a  sign  which  ordered  Sophy  to  follow  her  eldest 
brother,  while  she  addressed  herself  to  the  task  of 
soothing  the  injured  student. 

"  Dear  boy,  you  know  how  proud  we  all  are,  even 
Roddy  in  his  heart,  of  your  talents  and  your  industry. 
It  is  quite  right  to  try  and  distinguish  yourself  by  — " 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  deceive  you,  mother,"  said 
Courtenay,  interrupting,  "  the  work  which  was  ob- 


234  THE  TYRANT 

tained  for  me  by  a  literary  friend  —  was  undertaken 
less  from  the  hope  of  earning  any  distinction 
(though  I  feel  myself  peculiarly  fitted  by  nature  for 
the  task  of  criticism)  than  for  the  sake  of  the  — 
of  the  honorarium,"  he  stammered. 

"  Dear  Courtenay,  it  is  good  and  honest  of  you  to 
try  and  earn  money.  I  know  it  is  the  payment  of 
your  debts  you  think  about,"  she  said  simply. 

"  I  am  glad  someone  gives  me  credit  for  good  in- 
tentions," he  said,  still  ruffled.  "  You  know  how  ill  I 
can  afford  to  spare  any  time  from  my  reading  — " 

"  If  you  must  read  —  I  will  not  try  to  prevent 
you,"  said  his  mother,  coaxingly,  "  but  this  work  you 
can  set  aside  when  you  like,  my  dearest  boy,  for  I 
want  you  to  enjoy  every  moment  of  your  vacation, 
and  to  let  me  pay  whatever  you  owe,  and  to  keep 
any  money  you  earn  for  your  own  pleasures." 

"  It  was  only  the  —  the  prospect  of  getting  this 
literary  work  to  do,  that  made  me  launch  out  into 
getting  the  necessary  works  of  reference,  which  a  re- 
viewer should  have  to  his  hand,"  stammered  Courte- 
nay, relapsing  in  his  confusion  into  a  more  natural 
and  boyish  manner,  "  and  I  am  almost  ashamed  to 
say—" 

"  How  much  is  it  that  you  owe  altogether,  dear 
Courtenay?  "  said  his  mother,  softly. 

Mrs.  Kemys  hurried  over  to  the  cottage  as  soon 
as  she  could. 

"  I  am  very  thankful  to  see  you  again,  Annette," 


SOPHY  IN  HER  ELEMENT        235 

said  her  mother-in-law.  "  One  does  not  know  how 
much  one  will  miss  people  until  they  are  gone." 

"  Sophy  said  she  had  tried  to  take  my  place." 

"  That  is  what  Sophy  will  never  succeed  in  doing," 
said  the  old  lady  contemptuously.  "  If  it  had  been 
Annie  now.  My  dear,  I  have  heard  nothing  from 
Annie,  which  is  surely  a  good  sign,  so  considerate  and 
affectionate  as  she  has  always  been." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  awkward  doing  anything  with  one 
arm  in  a  sling.  She  has  sent  me  the  merest  scrawls; 
but  Lady  Yorath  writes  she  is  delighted  with  her,  and 
wants  to  keep  her." 

The  old  lady  would  not  express  her  satisfaction  in 
words,  but  she  nodded  and  beamed. 

"And  the  boys?" 

"  Roddy  has  everything  he  had  set  his  heart  on 
most.  Field-glasses  —  revolvers,  guns.  Poor  fel- 
low, I  let  him  go  with  a  friend  of  his  own  to  get  ev- 
erything he  thought  necessary,  while  I  saw  to  the 
more  prosaic  part  of  his  outfit.  His  ideas  were  very 
moderate  after  all,  if  we  except  the  guns.  Still,  I 
have  spent  a  great  deal  of  money."  She  smiled 
rather  deprecatingly. 

"  Quite  right,"  said  old  Mrs.  Kemys,  stoutly. 
"  There  is  a  time  for  spending  and  a  time  for  sav- 
ing." 

"  This  is  evidently  the  time  for  spending,"  said 
the  younger  Mrs.  Kemys,  and  she  mentioned  the  sum 
total  of  her  extravagance. 

"  What  does  it  matter?  "  said  the  old  lady,  but  she 


23 6  THE  TYRANT 

could  not  help  a  slight  gasp.     "  Does  Mr.  Turley 
object?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  he  begs  me  to  draw  on  him  for 
as  much  more  as  I  want,  and  says  the  thousand 
pounds  will  be  ready  before  Rodric  is.  Dear  Gran- 
ny, I  suppose  I  am  growing  a  little  reckless.  My 
feeling  is  that  I  may  as  well  be  hung  for  a  sheep  as 
a  lamb,"  said  Annette,  smiling  faintly. 

"  That  is  exactly  my  own  opinion,"  said  old  Mrs. 
Kemys,  grimly,  "  however,  it  is  not  time  for  the  hang- 
ing yet,  so  we  need  not  discuss  it  just  now.  Tell  me, 
what  do  you  think  of  that  little  impudent  Sophy  set- 
ting up  an  admirer  of  her  own?  " 

"Mr.  Cantrill?" 

"  Why,  have  you  heard?  " 

"  She  mentioned  that  she  had  met  him,  and  there 
is  nobody  else.  Surely  it  cannot  be  serious,"  said 
Mrs.  Kemys,  half  amused  and  half  dismayed.  "  I 
have  been  away  so  short  a  time." 

"  I  am  not  supposing  it  to  be  serious,  my  dear,  but 
Mrs.  Eyewater  felt  it  her  duty  to  come  and  see  me, 
and  by  the  very  shake  of  her  head  I  knew  she  was 
longing  to  give  me  a  dig  about  something  —  you 
know  how  fond  of  each  other  we  have  always  been. 
She  said  as  she  heard  poor  little  Sophy  had  been  left 
quite  alone  —  both  her  parents  gone,  and  even  old 
Mrs.  Sharman  —  it  seemed  only  kind  to  tell  me  peo- 
ple were  talking  —  and  things  looked  rather  odd. 
It  appears  he  has  been  walking  her  back  after  the 
church  decorating — " 


SOPHY  IN  HER  ELEMENT        237 

"  He  could  hardly  help  that,  since  the  Rectory  is 
next  door." 

"  Just  what  I  said.  But  it  seems  Sophy  dropped 
in  to  tea  at  the  Eyewaters  when  Mr.  Cantrill  was 
there;  and  as  he  is  nearer  forty  than  thirty,  just 
what  Mrs.  Eyewater  might  consider  a  suitable  age 
for  Perina  or  Cynthia,  it  was  very  provoking  that  he 
should  devote  himself  to  sweet  seventeen.  She  hinted 
that  she  was  afraid  Sophy  had  seen  him  go  into  the 
Red  House,  and  I  should  have  been  angry,  but  on 
thinking  it  over  — r  Sophy  is  such  a  little  minx — " 

"  No,  no,"  said  Sophy's  mother. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys. 

"  It  was  time  I  came  home  to  look  after  Sophy," 
said  Annette,  rising  with  a  smile  that  was  checked  by 
a  sigh. 

"  My  dear,  I  have  not  vexed  or  worried  you,  I 
hope.  I  need  hardly  say  I  am  only  joking,  and  if  I 
were  not,  he  is  a  most  estimable  man.  Miss  Sophy 
would  be  a  lucky  young  woman." 

"  I  am  not  vexed,  dear  Granny,"  said  Annette. 
"  If  I  sighed,  it  was  only  because  I  was  thinking  — 
I  have  been  thinking  ever  since  I  came  home  —  back 
to  this  atmosphere  of  harmless  gossip,  and  little  quar- 
rels about  nothing,  and  small  household  arrange- 
ments — " 

"Thinking?" 

"  It  is  hard  to  put  one's  thoughts,  or  rather  one's 
weariness  of  spirit,  into  words,"  she  said.  "  I  was 
thinking,  I  suppose,  that  human  life,  which  can  sound 


238  THE  TYRANT 

so  noble  in  the  abstract,  is  in  reality  composed  of  such 
endless  trivialities.  A  true  picture  of  life  as  it  really 
is  —  to  us,  for  instance  —  would  be  just  a  record  of 
commonplace  detail.  And  yet  that  is  life  —  to  you 
and  to  me,  and  to  thousands  of  women  like  us." 

"  My  dear,  that  is  not  what  life  looks  like  to  me, 
that  am  come  to  the  end  of  my  task,  and  can  survey 
it  as  a  whole,  or  very  nearly,"  said  the  older  woman. 
"  As  for  you,  you  are  in  the  thick  of  yours,  you  are 
toiling  as  hard  as  you  can;  but  you  cannot  see  the 
work  for  the  stitches." 

"  Is  that  it?  Such  little  tiresome  stitches,  so  close 
together,  and  my  eyes  so  tired,  and  longing  to  look 
up-' 

"  You  will  look  up  when  you  have  finished." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ANNIE   IN    PARADISE 

ANNIE  KEMYS  had  never  before  paid  a  visit  to  a 
great  country  house,  and  when  she  arrived  at  Artra- 
mont,  and  was  ushered  into  a  room  full  of  people, 
she  was  a  little  pale,  a  little  frightened  and  rather 
wondering  at  her  own  temerity  in  having  wished  so 
much  to  come. 

But  the  warm  welcome  and  the  soft  embrace  of  her 
hostess  reassured  her,  and  Lady  Yorath,  excusing  her- 
self to  her  other  guests,  led  her  away  through  the 
great  hall  and  up  the  wide  staircase  to  the  room  pre- 
pared for  her.  On  the  way  she  informed  her  that 
her  maid  and  her  luggage  had  arrived  from  Nantg- 
wilt,  and  that  she  must  not  attempt  to  come  down  to 
dinner  that  evening,  but  have  a  little  tray  carried 
to  her  room. 

"  My  maid!  "  Annie  said,  in  amaze;  and  as  the 
door  was  opened  and  she  saw  the  substantial  figure 
of  her  old  nurse  bending  over  a  trunk,  she  cried 
with  delight,  "  Why,  it  is  Sharman !  How  can  they 
have  spared  you  from  home,  and  when  Mamma  is 
in  London!  Is  Sophy  looking  after  the  little 
boys?" 

Mrs,  Sharman,  in  the  midst  of  her  gladne$8  to 


240  THE  TYRANT 

see  her  beloved  nursling,  was  shocked  by  this  frank- 
ness ;  but  Lady  Yorath  laughed,  for  Annie's  simplic- 
ity attracted  her  no  less  than  her  beauty. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  Sharman  will  be  able  to  explain 
all  you  want  to  know,  and  I  will  leave  you  together," 
she  said  graciously.  "  Now  be  sure  and  rest  after 
the  exertion  of  the  drive,  and  mind  that  poor  arm 
does  not  get  hurt.  I  believe  the  nurse*  ought  to 
have  come  with  you  to  help  your  maid  look  after 
it." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  would  have  been  a  great  expense ! 
The  doctor  can  do  all  that  is  wanted  now,"  said 
Annie  reproachfully,  "  and  I  know  how  to  manage 
it  myself,  for  that  matter.  Indeed  I  am  quite  able 
to  come  down." 

But  Lady  Yorath  was  firm  in  her  insistence  upon 
the  little  tray. 

"  If  you  feel  able  after  dinner,  you  must  slip  on 
a  tea-gown,  and  let  us  find  you  comfortably  tucked 
up  on  the  drawing-room  sofa,"  she  said,  with  moth- 
erly solicitude.  "  My  dear,  I  promised  the  doctor. 
There  is  the  strain  to  be  considered  as  well  as  your 
arm,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  I  scarcely  feel  it  at  all  now,"  Annie  said, 
"  and  I  haven't  got  a  tea-gown  — "  she  was  adding, 
when  Sharman  interrupted  her  with  dignity. 

1  You  don't  know  what  you've  got,  nor  yet  what 
you  haven't  got,  Miss  Annie,  and  I'm  sure  what  her 
ladyship  says  is  the  best.  For  with  your  arm  in  a 
sling  I  don't  know  how  you  could  put  on  an  evening 


ANNIE  IN  PARADISE  241 

dress  nor  nothing  but  a  tea-gown,"  and  she  frowned 
with  warning  displeasure  at  Annie. 

Lady  Yorath  glanced  from  the  reproving  maid  to 
the  disconcerted  innocent  mistress  with  secret  amuse- 
ment. 

"  I  will  leave  you  to  settle  it  all  between  your- 
selves," she  said,  nodding  and  smiling,  at  the  old 
nurse.  "  I  see  you  know  how  to  take  care  of  her," 
and  then  she  left  Annie  alone  with  Sharman. 

'  What  did  you  mean  about  a  teagown,  Sharman  ? 
I  can't  wear  Sophy's  pink  wrapper  here.  They 
made  me  wear  it  at  the  hospital;  and  you've  no  idea 
how  the  people  downstairs  are  dressed,"  she  said, 
half  inclined  to  cry. 

u  I  advise  you  just  to  trust  yourself  to  me,  as  her 
ladyship  said,  Miss  Annie;  and  not  to  suppose  that 
your  Mamma,  as  was  a  young  lady  once  herself,  and 
presented  at  Court  with  the  best  of  them,  would  have 
let  you  come  to  a  house  like  this  without  seeing  as 
you  had  everything  a  young  lady  should  have,"  said 
Sharman.  She  tried  to  speak  calmly,  but  her  hands 
shook  as  she  lifted  the  tray  from  a  bran-new  trunk 
which  stood  beside  the  great  fourposter. 

Annie  uttered  a  stifled  scream  and  fell  upon  her 
knees  among  the  luxurious  cushions  of  the  blue  and 
white  sofa ;  gasping  with  amaze  and  delight  as  Shar- 
man took  from  the  trunk  one  trailing  diaphanous 
garment  after  another,  and  threw  them  with  elab- 
orate careful  carelessness  upon  the  blue  silk  quilt  of 
the  bed. 


242  THE  TYRANT 

"  But  Sharman  —  they  can't  be  for  me  I  Is 
Mamma  mad?  They  must  have  cost  a  fortune." 

"  They  came  down  by  passenger  train  this  morn- 
ing. I  had  a  letter  from  your  Mamma  to  say  I  was 
to  meet  them  and  come  on  here  with  them.  She  had 
the  things  sent  from  the  shops  to  her  hotel  and 
packed  them  herself  in  a  new  trunk,  as  there  wasn't 
time  to  get  your  initials  painted  on,"  said  Sharman, 
breathlessly.  "  I've  brought  my  workbasket  all 
ready  to  make  any  alterations  as  has  to  be  done ;  but 
your  Mamma  knows  your  measures  so  well,  and 
you're  stock  size,  she  says,  being  so  tall  — " 

The  sight  of  Annie's  ecstasy  would  have  repaid 
her  mother  many  times  over  for  the  trouble  and 
thought  she  had  expended  over  the  choosing  of  the 
slender  outfit;  but  indeed  it  had  been  a  labour  of  love. 

Instead  of  resting  she  would  have  tried  on  every 
article  in  turn  had  Sharman  permitted  her  to  do  so, 
but  the  old  woman  obliged  her  to  lie  down  on  the 
sofa,  giving  her  a  filmy  lace-trimmed  beribboned 
peignoir  to  keep  her  quiet,  as  she  would  have  given 
a  toy  to  the  little  boys. 

But  after  the  first  delighted  examination,  Annie 
dropped  it  in  her  lap. 

"  Oh,  Sharman,  the  bills !  —  when  Papa  comes 
home!" 

'  Now,   Miss  Annie,  you're  not  to  think  about 

that,"    said    Sharman,    determinedly;    though    the 

thought  dominated  all  the  pleasure  in  her  own  mind. 

*  Your  Granny  and  she  has  just  found  a  way  to  get 


ANNIE  IN  PARADISE  243 

the  money  from  Mr.  Turley  between  them,  as  ladies 
in  their  position  always  can  if  they  give  their  minds 
to  it;  and  of  course  it's  easier  now  your  Pa's  away 
as  won't  hear  of  money  being  raised.  Gentlemen 
don't  understand  how  necessary  it  is  for  a  young  lady 
to  be  well-dressed,"  said  Sharman  importantly,  "  and 
you  may  make  up  your  mind  he'll  never  hear  nothing 
about  bills  nor  any  other  unpleasantnesses.  Mr. 
Turley  will  have  to  manage  all  that.  It's  his  busi- 
ness. I  don't  say  it  mightn't  have  been  difficult  to 
arrange  it  all  if  the  master  had  been  at  home,  but 
it's  just  Providence  that  he  wasn't.  So  be  grateful 
to  your  Mamma,  miss,  and  don't  get  worrying  her 
over  the  whys  nor  yet  the  wherefores." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  worry  about  anything," 
said  Annie,  with  tears  in  her  blue  eyes.  "  Oh,  Shar- 
man, doesn't  it  seem  almost  too  good  to  be  true  1  " 

When  Lady  Yorath  and  the  three  ladies  who  were 
staying  in  the  house  came  after  dinner  into  the  smaller 
drawing-room,  which  was  known  as  the  French  sa- 
loon —  they  found  Annie  reclining  upon  the  Louis 
Seize  sofa,  as  she  had  been  bidden;  flushed. and  beau- 
tiful, in  delicate  lace  and  chiffon,  with  her  golden 
head  outlined  against  the  green  brocade  panels  of  the 
highly  decorated  walls. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  she  was  a  Greuze?"  mur- 
mured Lady  Yorath  sotto-voce  to  the  others,  as  she 
introduced  them  to  this  charming  picture,  softly 
lighted  by  wax  candles  in  dim  and  tarnished  gilt 
sconces. 


244  THE  TYRANT 

Two  of  the  ladies  were  contemporaries  of  their 
hostess,  but  the  third  was  a  girl  of  perhaps  six  and 
twenty,  whom  they  all  called  Tony,  and  Annie  sub- 
sequently discovered  that  her  name  was  Antoinette 
Dumayne,  and  that  she  was  Lady  Yorath's  niece. 

The  young  lady  appeared  to  possess  some  of  her 
aunt's  charm  and  more  than  all  her  frankness.  She 
devoted  herself  to  the  entertainment  of  the  invalid 
until  the  arrival  of  the  gentlemen. 

The  happiest  evenings,  like  the  happiest  nations, 
have  no  history,  and  in  this  restful  atmosphere  of 
calm  and  luxury,  and  harmony  of  gentle  voices, 
Annie  found  very  little  matter  to  relate  in  the  letter- 
diary  she  had  promised  herself  to  write  for  Sophy's 
benefit.  But  after  all,  in  the  end,  the  little  journal 
was  found  too  sacred  for  any  eyes  but  her  own,  and 
laid  aside  with  other  precious  relics  of  dream-like 
days  of  youth  and  love  in  spring-time. 

"  At  last  He  came,  and  then  the  time  seemed  only 
too  short.  I  did  not  talk  to  him  much,  though  Tony 
gave  up  her  place  and  moved  away  from  the  sofa 
directly  they  came  up,  which  made  me  blush,  but  she 
did  it  quite  calmly  and  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  He 
came  straight  to  my  side  and  asked  after  my  arm  so 
kindly.  His  manner  was  as  gentle  as  ever.  Then 
Lady  Alswere  asked  him  to  play.  Somehow  it  had 
never  even  entered  my  head  that  he  was  musical. 

"  Lady  Yorath  went  to  the  piano  and  one  of  the 
gentlemen  lighted  the  candles.  First  he  played  a 


ANNIE  IN  PARADISE  245 

violin  solo  called  a  Fete  a  Trianon.  Music  always 
calls  up  visions,  and  I  could  really  see  the  pow- 
dered, tight-laced,  high-bred  Court  ladies  curt- 
seying to  Marie  Antoinette,  and  courtly  nobles  lead- 
ing them  to  the  dance  by  the  tips  of  their  delicate 
fingers. 

'  Then  he  played  what  is  called  an  obligate,  while 
his  mother  sang  the  Serenata  of  Braga,  which  made 
me  want  to  cry.  It  is  all  like  a  dream. 

"  I  wish  the  boys  could  just  see  him  with  his 
mother. 

"  It  would  be  such  a  lesson  to  them.  They  laugh 
at  Sophy  and  me  for  being  distressed  about  their  man- 
ners ;  though,  poor  fellows,  what  can  you  expect,  with 
Papa  like  a  bear?  But,  oh,  it  is  such  a  comfort  to  see 
that  some  gentlemen  can  be  courteous  even  to  their 
own  relations. 

"To  be  sure  Roddy  is  very  fond  of  Mamma,  but 
he  would  let  her  wait  on  him  hand  and  foot,  whereas 
He  treats  his  mother  like  a  queen.  I  am  sure  she 
looks  like  one.  I  never  saw  her  in  evening  dress  be- 
fore, and  she  is  wonderful,  in  ivory  satin  all  veiled 
with  soft  lace  and  a  great  string  of  pearls  round  her 
throat. 

"  Her  beautiful  dark  hair  is  just  a  little  frosted 
here  and  there,  and  oddly  enough  so  is  his  on  the 
temples.  Their  faces  are  alike  and  their  arched 
black  eyebrows  and  light  hazel  eyes,  but  she  is  viva- 
cious and  quick  and  he  rather  silent  and  stately. 
They  may  say  the  Yoraths  were  common  miners,  but 


246  THE  TYRANT 

for  my  part  I  am  glad  he  comes  of  a  race  of  great, 
strong  working  men.  Tony's  father,  Lord  Du- 
mayne,  who  is  His  uncle,  of  course  (being  Lady  Yo- 
rath's  brother  and  the  head  of  her  family,  which  is 
as  old  as  the  hills),  is  such  a  rickety-looking,  feeble 
little  man,  though  he  is  very  polite,  as  indeed  all  the 
gentlemen  here  are.  .  .  .  Tony  sang  a  French 
song  and  then  a  German  and  then  an  English,  but 
as  she  does  not  pronounce  a  single  syllable  distinctly, 
I  only  knew  what  language  she  was  singing  because 
she  wisely  told  us  beforehand.  Then  He  sang  a 
song  called  To  Anthea,  and  I  wished  it  had  been  To 
Annie.  .  .  .  [scratched  out  but  still  legible.] 

"  Waking  in  the  morning  here  is  delicious.  It 
feels  almost  wicked  to  be  enjoying  such  luxury  when 
I  think  of  the  others  and  of  poor  Mamma.  I  am 
afraid  it  almost  makes  me  really  wish  to  be  rich. 

"  Sharman  is  ten  times  more  respectful  here  than 
she  is  at  home,  and  told  me  that  it  was  by  the  mercy 
of  Providence  she  had  brought  her  best  black  silk, 
or  she  doesn't  know  what  she  would  have  done  in 
the  evenings  when  the  maids  have  a  regular  late  din- 
ner with  one  of  the  under  footmen  to  wait  on  them. 
She  tells  me  lots  of  gossip,  but  I  am  generally  too 
sleepy  to  listen  in  the  morning.  It  is  so  heavenly 
to  open  one's  eyes  on  these  pretty  blue  curtains,  and 
the  wallpaper  all  bunches  of  roses  tied  with  blue  rib- 
bons exactly  like  the  chintz  covers,  and  the  dressing- 
table  all  muslin  and  bows.  I  wish  we  could  have 
things  pretty  and  fresh  like  this  at  home.  But  Sophy 


ANNIE  IN  PARADISE  247 

and  I  will  know  better  what  could  be  done  now ;  but, 
oh  —  it  could  never  be  the  same,  though  our  house 
is  really  a  prettier  and  older  house  than  this,  if  only 
—  But  it  is  too  ungrateful  to  be  so  discontented. 
Why  can't  I  enjoy  the  delightful  things  here,  and 
not  make  comparisons?  Sharman  opens  my  cur- 
tains and  lets  in  the  morning  sunshine,  and  brings 
the  most  delicious  wee  Dresden  tea-set  to  my  bed- 
side, on  the  tiniest  of  porcelain  trays. 

"  I  have  never  felt  so  really  grown-up  as  I  do  when 
I  lean  back  against  the  great  lavender-scented  lace- 
edged  pillows,  in  the  dressing  jacket  dear,  dear  Mam- 
ma thoughtfully  bought  for  me,  and  sip  my  tea! 
It's  so  nice  to  know  one  can't  be  late,  and  to  lie  there, 
looking  out  at  the  blue  sky  and  the  foliage  against 
it  round  the  window,  listening  to  the  birds,  and 
dreaming  of  —  never  mind  who. 

"  And  it  is  nice  to  have  Sharman  waiting  on  me, 
with  nobody  shouting  for  her  to  come  elsewhere ;  and 
to  have  such  exquisite  things  to  put  on.  But  noth- 
ing is  so  nice  as  the  going  downstairs  and  knowing 
that  I  am  to  have  another  long,  blissful,  enchanting 
day  with  .  .  . 

"  He  had  to  go  to  London  yesterday,  and  though 
Lady  Yorath  was  sweeter  than  ever  to  me,  the  day 
seemed  dreadfully  long.  Oh,  how  ashamed  I  am 
to  be  so  ungrateful !  Tony  took  me  for  a  walk  into 
the  woods ;  the  very  same  I  took  yesterday  with  him. 
Oh,  how  different  it  seemed  now.  But  she  talked 
of  quite  interesting  things.  She  said  her  aunt  was 


248  THE  TYRANT 

in  despair  because  He  would  not  marry;  and  that  it 
was  so  unselfish  of  her  to  wish  it,  as  then  she  would 
of  course  have  to  turn  out  of  Artramont.  I  felt  in- 
dignant, and  said  I  hoped  he  would  not  marry  any- 
one who  would  be  capable  of  letting  her  make  such 
a  sacrifice.  Tony  laughed  and  said  she  would  not 
like  to  live  with  a  mother-in-law,  though  her  aunt 
was  the  nicest  woman  in  the  world,  and  was  always 
inviting  pretty  girls  to  stay,  but  instead  of  falling  in 
love  with  them  he  was  always  rushing  away  to  Cen- 
tral Africa  or  somewhere,  to  shoot  big  game,  for 
months  and  months.  She  believed  one  reason  was 
that  he  was  so  shy  he  hated  the  thought  of  a  wed- 
ding and  fuss  and  ceremony,  and  that  she  sometimes 
feared  it  would  end  in  his  never  getting  married  at 
all.  Well,  even  that  would  be  better  than  his  mar- 
rying the  wrong  person.  .  .  . 

"  He  came  back  and  we  had  another  heavenly 
evening,  and  he  sang  Could  I  but  make  you  the  love 
of  my  life  so  beautifully  that  I  found  myself  cry- 
ing. .  .  . 

"  It  is  so  warm  —  just  like  summer.  Darling 
Roddy  is  coming  over  to  see  me  and  say  goodbye. 
I  am  perfectly  miserable  to  think  how  selfish  and 
heartless  I  must  have  become  with  all  this  petting 
and  spoiling  over  my  broken  arm ;  for  I  had  forgot- 
ten it  was  yesterday  he  and  Courtenay  were  to  come 
home  with  Mamma. 

"  Lady  Yorath  said  Roddy  must  spend  a  long  day 
here  and  it  is  settled  he  will  ride  over  to  luncheon. 


ANNIE  IN  PARADISE  249 

.  .  .  I  sent  a  note,  as  Lady  Yorath  said  I  might, 
by  a  servant  who  waited  for  the  answer,  and  told 
Mamma  I  thought  I  ought  to  come  home  for  dear 
Roddy's  last  days  if  he  were  really  going  to  the  Ar- 
gentine. But  she  sent  back  urging  me  to  remain 
here,  and  I  couldn't  help  being  relieved,  though  it 
sounds  as  if  I  thought  more  of  him  than  of  my 
darling  Roddy.  But  of  course  it's  quite  differ- 
ent .  .  . 

"  Roddy  came  over.  He  is  so  much  improved 
and  so  nice  and  manly,  I  was  very  proud  of  him.  Of 
course  his  manners  were  much  better  here  than  they 
are  at  home,  where  he  is  sometimes  a  little  rough, 
poor  darling,  which  I  put  down  entirely  to  Papa's 
example.  Lady  Yorath  said  he  was  a  darling,  and 
asked  him  to  come  over  for  the  week-end.  I  think 
he  fell  a  little  in  love  with  her,  as  everyone  does.  It 
is  very  extraordinary  when  one  thinks  of  poor  Mam- 
ma, for  Lady  Yorath  is  actually  even  older;  yet 
no  one  thinks  of  putting  her  on  one  side,  or  not  pay- 
ing her  little  attentions,  etc.  Yesterday  I  saw  Mr. 
Jerningham  kiss  her  hand.  I  can't  imagine  any  gen- 
tleman kissing  poor  Mamma's  hand.  I  thought  it 
so  good  for  Roddy  to  see  how  women  ought  to  be 
treated,  but  he  was  more  interested  in  Him  even  than 
in  her,  and  was  quite  cross  with  me  for  not  knowing 
he  was  a  famous  sportsman  and  supposed  to  be  one 
of  the  best  shots  in  England.  .  .  . 

"  After  lunch  Roddy  kept  him  for  hours  showing 
him  different  sorts  of  rifles  and  pistols  and  things 


25o  THE  TYRANT 

of  that  kind,  and  talking  about  the  Argentine,  where 
it  appears  he  has  been,  though  I  did  not  know  it. 

"  Roddy  was  a  little  annoyed  with  me  for  not 
knowing  it,  and  says  it  would  have  been  something 
for  me  to  talk  about.  As  if  one  could  choose  the 
topics  of  one's  conversation  with  gentlemen.  Dear 
Roddy !  Of  course  he  did  not  notice  anything.  Boys 
never  do.  But  I  am  so  glad  he  liked  him.  Everyone 
did.  He  had  the  most  astonishing  things  to  tell  me 
about  Mamma.  How  she  stayed  at  the  most  expen- 
sive hotel,  and  took  him  to  theatres.  (Of  course  he 
put  it  that  she  asked  him  to  take  her;  so  like  a  boy! 
But  I  liked  it,  as  it  sounded  more  manly.)  And  they 
had  tip-top  dinners,  and  drank  champagne  in  hon- 
our of  his  coming  of  age.  What  would  Papa  have 
said?  And  his  outfit  is  simpy  splendid,  though  he 
wishes  now  he  had  bought  some  different  kind  of  re- 
volver which  He  said  was  the  best,  and  Roddy  is 
half  inclined  to  change  his.  He  explained  that  old 
Turley  found  out  that  some  money  was  due  to 
Mamma,  so  that  accounts  for  her  sending  me  such 
wonderful  things,  poor  darling.  But  besides  this 
he  says  he  does  not  know  what  has  come  over  her; 
she  seemed  so  excited  and  in  such  good  spirits  all  the 
time  she  was  in  London,  though  she  is  more  like  her- 
self now  she  is  at  Nantgwilt  again.  He  said  he  sup- 
posed it  must  be  the  relief  of  the  governor's  depart- 
ure, and  I  begged  him  not  to  say  *  the  governor,'  and 
he  told  me  not  to  be  a  little  prig,  which  offended  me, 
but  I  forgave  him  because,  after  all,  it  is  Roddy, 


ANNIE  IN  PARADISE  251 

and  he  looked  so  nice  and  chubby.     It  is  only  that  I 
want  my  brother  to  be  as  perfect  as  he  is.     ... 

.  .  Roddy  says  it  is  all  settled  about  the 
Argentine,  and  that  his  thousand  pounds  will  be 
twenty  thousand  before  I  can  look  round.  He  says 
he's  always  felt  sure  Papa  would  cut  him  off  the 
first  excuse  he  had,  and  it  was  no  use  waiting,  and  in 
my  heart  I'm  sure  he's  right,  but  it's  a  shame.  Oh, 
how  I  pray  he'll  make  his  fortune.  Even  if  he  is 
a  little  rough,  he's  my  own,  own  brother,  and  I  love 
him.  He  says  Courtenay  is  a  greater  ass  than  ever. 
I  wish  the  boys  got  on,  but  Courtenay  is  tiresome 
and  would  try  the  patience  of  a  saint.  But  Roddy 
says  he's  the  cleverest  fellow  going  for  all  that  and 
he  believes  he  will  end  by  getting  a  double  first,  what- 
ever that  may  mean,  and  that  the  old  Oxford  dons 
think  no  end  of  him.  He  heard  this  from  a  friend 
of  his  own  who  went  up  with  Courtenay  and  who 
can't  bear  him,  so  he  says  it  can't  be  a  prejudiced 
opinion. 

"  To-day  Lady  Yorath  took  me  into  His  work- 
shop. He  is  so  clever  with  his  hands  that  he  can 
make  almost  anything,  and  the  old  estate  carpenter 
told  me  it  was  a  pity  he  wasn't  a  real  workman,  for 
he  was  the  only  gentleman  he'd  ever  seen  who  could 
have  earned  his  own  living.  He  laughed  and  said 
he  had  inherited  his  taste  for  manual  labour. 

"  He  showed  me  his  grandfather's  pick  hanging 
up  in  the  hall,  and  said  he  wouldn't  part  with  it  for 
worlds.  The  old  man  really  was  a  miner,  and  rose 


252  THE  TYRANT 

to  be  a  colliery  owner,  and  a  rich  man,  entirely 
through  his  own  brain  and  pluck  and  industry,  and 
he  lived  to  see  his  son  in  Parliament,  though  unluck- 
ily he  died  before  he  became  a  member  of  the  gov- 
ernment. ...  He  showed  me  the  portrait  of 
his  grandfather ;  a  regular  shrewd  Welsh  face,  with 
high  cheek-bones  and  bright  colour  and  dark  eyes. 
His  father's  face  was  quite  as  shrewd,  but  much  more 
kindly  and  humorous.  He  was  a  very  big  man,  al- 
most a  giant,  but  He  is  much  handsomer  than  they 
could  ever  have  been.  .  .  .  This  is  such  a  differ- 
ent world;  it  is  strange  to  remember  we  are  only 
ten  miles  from  Nantgwilt  after  all.  .  .  .  After 
Easter  they  are  going  to  London,  and  I  shall  have 
to  go  home.  Of  course  it  will  be  very  nice  to  be 
back,  in  some  ways.  .  .  .  Oh,  Annie,  Annie, 
don't  be  —  a  hypocrite.  .  .  . 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  write  this,  but  I  am  so 
afraid  of  forgetting  a  single  detail  (not  that  I  ever 
could),  that  I  must,  must  put  it  down  now  at  once, 
while  it  is  all  so  fresh  and  wonderful.  ...  I 
am  in  my  own  room  and  Sharman  just  came  in  to  un- 
fasten my  frock,  and  then  I  put  on  my  new  white 
peignoir  that  dear  Mamma  sent  me,  and  told  Shar- 
man it  was  so  late  that  I  could  not  let  her  sit  up  and 
brush  my  hair  because  she  looked  so  sleepy.  But 
it  was  because  I  wanted  to  be  alone  and  think  over 
what  had  happened.  However,  it  was  no  use,  for 
she  would  take  down  my  hair  and  brush  it  and  brush 
it,  just  as  usual.  So  at  last  she  went,  and  left  me 


ANNIE  IN  PARADISE  253 

alone;  and  at  first  I  could  only  kneel  by  the  open 
window  and  ask  God  to  look  into  my  heart  and  see 
how  grateful  I  was,  for  words  would  not  come,  but 
now  I  am  going  to  try  and  write  it  down,  though 
my  hand  shakes  so.  ... 

"  Instead  of  sitting  in  the  French  saloon  as  usual 
we  went  to-night  into  the  big  drawing-room  which 
opens  also  into  the  library,  and  he  sang  To  Anthea 
again  because  I  asked  him  to.  Then  Lord  Dumayne 
and  Lady  Alswere  and  Mr.  Jerningham  went  into 
the  library  with  Lady  Yorath  to  play  bridge,  and 
Tony,  who  is  the  kindest  and  most  self-sacrificing 
person  in  the  whole  world,  offered  to  play  poker- 
patience  with  Mrs.  Guthlake,  who  was  delighted. 

"  They  sat  quite  close  to  the  log  fire,  which  was 
large  enough  to  roast  an  ox,  but  poor  Mrs.  Guthlake 
never  seems  to  be  warm  enough,  and  as  there  are 
great  big  screens  on  either  side  of  the  fireplace  they 
were  quite  shut  off.  It  is  the  largest  room  I  ever 
saw ;  all  lighted  with  electric  light  in  soft  yellow  silk 
shades,  which  throws  a  golden  glow  over  the  big 
palms  and  the  brocade  panels  and  the  old  pictures. 

"  He  played  the  piano  for  a  little  while,  and  then 
came  over  to  the  sofa  where  I  was  pretending  to  like 
watching  the  poker-patience,  and  asked  me  if  I  did 
not  find  the  chimney-corner  too  hot;  and  of  course 
my  face  was  burning.  And  he  asked  if  I  were  fond 
of  miniatures  because  if  so  his  mother  had  a  beautiful 
collection  of  historical  French  miniatures  which  he 
would  like  me  to  see.  The  cabinet  where  they  are 


254  THE  TYRANT 

kept  was  in  a  recess  close  by  the  furthest  window, 
which  was  luckily  open,  though  sheltered  by  heavy 
curtains  stretching  across  the  window  seat.  He 
made  me  sit  there  where  I  could  get  a  little  air,  quite 
out  of  sight  of  the  fireplace.  Then  he  brought  the 
drawer  of  the  cabinet,  and  put  it  on  the  seat  between 
us,  and  lifted  out  the  miniatures  one  by  one,  and 
told  me  their  names  and  all  about  them,  but  some- 
how I  could  not  take  in  a  single  word  .  .  .  and 
I  don't  think  he  always  knew  what  he  was  saying, 
for  I  do  remember  that  when  he  gave  me  one  of  a 
very  decollete  lady  with  a  long,  long  waist,  and 
flowers  in  her  curls,  he  told  me  it  was  the  portrait  of 
the  poor  little  dauphin;  but  I  was  too  agitated  to 
point  out  the  mistake,  and  presently  he  almost  threw 
these  valuable,  valuable  miniatures  back  into  the 
drawer,  and  came  and  knelt  on  one  knee  beside  me 
and  took  my  hands  in  his  and  whispered  Annie 
.  .  .  After  all,  I  cannot  write  down  those  sacred 
words  —  they  are  written  in  my  heart  and  will  be  till 
I  die  ... 

"  Oh  please,  please  God  let  me  be  worthy  of  him 
but  that  is  just  what  I  know  I  can  never  be.  Oh 
if  I  could  be  all  he  thinks  me  ...  and  he  fell 
in  love  with  me  the  very  first  day,  when  he  lifted  me 
onto  the  roadside,  and  my  hat  fell  off  on  his  knee, 
and  he  wanted  to  know  when  it  began  with  me,  but  I 
wouldn't  tell  him.  Perhaps  I  will  some  day,  but  it 
is  much,  much  too  soon,  and  when  I  think  that  a 
month  ago  I  didn't  even  know  him 


ANNIE  IN  PARADISE  255 

"  I  felt  I  couldn't  face  them  all,  and  he  laughed  at 
me,  but  oh,  so  tenderly,  and  showed  me  another  way 
out  of  the  big  drawing-room  through  the  saloon, 
which  was  very  dimly  lighted,  and  he  stopped  there 
and  asked  me  if  he  might  kiss  me  and  I  said  no,  and 
he  did ;  and  he  put  his  arms  round  me,  and  I  hid  my 
face  on  his  shoulder,  and  he  told  me  that  I  belonged 
to  him  for  ever  and  ever,  and  that  he  would  tell  his 
mother  about  it  to-night.  At  last  I  begged  him  to 
let  me  go,  for  I  was  frightened  someone  would  come, 
and  so  he  came  into  the  hall,  and  lit  my  candle,  and  I 
came  upstairs.  Even  now  I  can  hardly  believe  it's 
true,  and  that  I'm  really  to  be  his  —  wife  —  per- 
haps it's  unlucky  to  write  it.  I  wish  I  hadn't.  Oh 
God,  let  it  be  true  .  .  . 

"  Just  as  I  wrote  that  there  was  a  little  knock  at 
the  door,  and  his  mother  came  in.  She  had  taken 
off  her  dinner  dress  too,  and  wore  a  soft  rose- 
coloured  cashmere  with  a  Watteau  pleat,  and  she 
looked  more  like  a  queen  than  ever,  with  her  dark 
hair,  lightly  frosted,  drawn  off  her  dear  beautiful 
tender  face,  with  the  little  lines  and  shadows  giving 
the  touch  of  sadness  and  meaning  which  horrid  round 
smooth  faces  like  mine  haven't  got. 

"  She  shut  the  door,  and  I  pushed  away  my  writ- 
ing, and  just  stood  before  her,  ashamed  to  look  her 
in  the  face  after  that  one  first  glance,  for  oh!  if  she 
should  reproach  me  for  wanting  to  take  her  son  from 
her. 

"  But  she  went  and  sat  down  in  the  big  armchair 


25 6  THE  TYRANT 

by  the  fire,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  me  and  said 
'  Come  '  with  her  enchanting  smile  that  is  always 
half  droll  and  half  pathetic ;  and  I  went  and  fell  on 
my  knees  like  the  selfish  guilty,  guilty  wretch  I  felt 
myself  to  be,  and  hid  my  face  in  her  lap. 

"  We  had  a  long,  long  talk,  and  she  actually  said 
she  wanted  me  to  be  her  daughter  the  first  moment 
she  saw  me,  and  that  she  knew  even  before  then  that 
Austen  had  fallen  in  love  with  me.  I  said  '  Did  he 
tell  her?  '  and  she  laughed  and  said  *  No,  that  wasn't 
necessary,  she  knew  him  far  too  well.  And  her  only 
fear  was,  would  I  love  him  as  he  loved  me  ? '  I 
couldn't  help  firing  up  when  she  said  that,  and  I  told 
her  what  I  never,  never  could  have  told  hi m,  of  course, 
that  I  adored  him  with  all  my  heart  and  soul  and 
would  die  to  save  even  his  little  finger  from  being 
hurt;  and  then  she  laughed  and  I  laughed,  and  we 
both  cried  a  little  and  she  took  me  in  her  arms  and 
kissed  me,  and  said  I  was  a  darling,  and  I  knew  she 
understood.  And  to-morrow  we  are  all  going  over 
to  see  dear,  dear  Mamma  and  if  she  consents  I  am 
to  go  to  London  with  them,  and  oh  what  will  she 
say,  and  Sophy  and  the  boys  and  all  of  them,  and 
how  can  I  ever,  ever  be  thankful  enough  that  Papa 
is  away  ..." 


CHAPTER  XV 

MRS.  BYEWATER  ON  THE  WATCH 

OLD  Mrs.  Eyewater,  who  had  declared  her  sus- 
picion that  Sophy  Kemys  watched  the  goings  in  and 
the  comings  out  of  the  callers  at  the  Red  House,  now 
in  her  turn  observed  from  the  window  of  her  little 
dining-parlour,  which  looked  down  the  village  street 
—  the  arrival  of  Lady  Yorath's  motor-brougham  at 
the  door  of  the  Manor  House. 

"  Bless  my  soul,"  she  cried  to  her  daughters, 
"  Annie  must  have  come  home.  I  recognise  the  liv- 
eries, though  why  the  grandson  of  a  miner  should 
be  allowed  to  have  liveries  is  more  than  I  can  tell." 

Cynthia  and  Perina  were  not  less  excited  than  their 
mamma. 

"What  can  it  mean?  The  last  time  I  heard, 
Annie  had  been  invited  to  stay  on,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  And  had  accepted.  Mrs.  Kemys  could  not  be 
certain  for  how  long,  but  it  was  understood  for  some 
time," 

"  Girls,"  said  Mrs.  Eyewater,  "  it  is  very  odd, 
I  see  no  luggage." 

"  They  would  not  have  luggage  in  that  beautiful 
car,  mamma.  It  would  follow  in  a  cart." 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Mrs.  Eyewater,  and  the 

257; 


25  8  (THE  TYRANT 

flowers  in  her  hat  began  to  dance  on  their  wires,  for 
by  great  good  luck,  as  she  afterwards  said,  she  was 
dressed  for  walking, — "  something  has  happened, 
and  Annie  has  been  sent  home.  I  always  said  some- 
thing would  happen.  It  was  practically  throwing 
her  at  that  young  man's  head  to  send  her  there  at  all. 
Neither  old  Mrs.  Kemys  nor  Annette  chose  to  under- 
stand me  when  I  said  so;  and  yet  I  said  it  out  dis- 
tinctly enough." 

She  raised  her  voice  at  the  mere  recollection. 
Being  slightly  deaf,  though  she  would  not  admit  it, 
Mrs.  Eyewater  was  apt  to  talk  more  loudly  than  she 
was  at  all  aware. 

"  Well,  one  comfort  is  that  no  one  will  ever  be 
able  to  accuse  me  of  having  thrown  my  daughters  at 
any  man's  head.  If  there  are  not  enough  men  to  go 
round,  more's  the  pity." 

Poor  Miss  Cynthia  exchanged  a  very  faint  glance 
of  understanding  with  her  sister,  who  skilfully  re- 
directed her  mother's  attention  to  the  subject  in 
hand. 

"What  do  you  suppose  has  happened,  Mamma? 
Can  Lord  Yorath  have  fallen  in  love  with  An- 
nie?" 

"  Fallen  in  love!  Pooh,  nonsense,"  said  Mrs.  Bye- 
water,  sharply.  "  Annie  is  hardly  out  of  her  short 
frocks.  There  has  been  some  silly  flirtation,  no 
doubt,  and  his  mother  has  naturally  found  it  out,  and 
sent  Miss  Annie  home." 

"  Poor  Annie,"  said  Cynthia. 


MRS.  EYEWATER  ON  THE  WATCH    259 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Perina,  sotto-voce,  "  we're  only 
guessing." 

'  The  motor's  waiting.  What  can  that  be  for?  " 
said  Cynthia. 

"  I  believe  we're  all  wrong,"  said  Perina,  suddenly. 
"  It's  Lady  Yorath  bringing  Annie  to  say  good-bye  to 
Roddy."  ' 

Mrs.  Eyewater  was  annoyed  by  this  conjecture, 
but  as  the  motor-brougham  remained  stationary,  she 
began  to  think  there  might  be  something  in  it. 

"  It  is  five  minutes  to  four.  We  will  give  them 
five  minutes  more,"  she  said,  becoming  excited,  "  and 
if  it  does  not  move  then,  we  may  conclude  that  who- 
ever it  is  has  gone  in,  and  so  Annette  will  be  at 
home." 

The  five  minutes  went  by,  all  three  ladies  being 
too  much  agitated  to  converse  until  the  church  clock 
struck  four ;  then  they  rose  simultaneously  from  their 
seats. 

There  was  no  need  for  explanation;  in  a  moment 
they  were  all  hurrying  past  the  churchyard  to  the 
door  of  the  Manor  House. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Pryse,  I  know  Mrs.  Kemys  is  at  home, 
but  has  Miss  Annie  come  home  or  is  it  only  a  call? 
That  is  what  we  want  to  know,"  said  Mrs.  Eyewater, 
who  gave  Pryse  half  a  crown  every  New  Year's  day, 
and  considered  that  in  return  he  ought  to  hold  him- 
self bound  to  give  her  any  information  concerning 
the  family  of  his  employers,  that  she  desired  to 
have. 


26o  THE  TYRANT 

"  Miss  Annie  has  come  over  to  see  us,"  said  old 
Pryse,  with  dignity.  "  And  Lady  Yorath  is  with  her, 
and  also  Lord  Yorath  has  accompanied  them.  And 
I've  just  'ad  a  message  — " 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  postpone  our  call,"  said 
Mrs.  Eyewater,  hesitating. 

But  her  daughters  demurred  —  as  they  were  ex- 
pected to  demur. 

"  And  I've  just  'ad  a  message  from  Mrs.  Kemys, 
to  say  we're  not  at  home  to  callers  — "  said  old  Pryse, 
raising  his  voice  slightly. 

Such  a  message  had  never  before  been  given  to 
Pryse,  and  he  was  scarcely  less  surprised  than  Mrs. 
Eyewater,  who  walked  home  almost  dumbfounded, 
with  her  two  daughters. 

"  Not  at  home  to  callers,  and  Annie  and  Lady 
Yorath  and  Lord  Yorath  all  arrived  at  once !  There 
must  be  something  wrong,"  she  repeated  over  and 
over  again.  "  I  am  afraid,  girls,  that  something 
very  unpleasant  indeed  must  have  happened,  just  as 
I  always  predicted  it  would." 

In  the  oak  panelled  drawing-room  that  was  the 
very  heart  and  centre  of  the  Manor  House,  Annette 
trembled  and  changed  colour,  and  would  have  wept, 
but  that  she  was  ashamed. 

Annie's  arms  about  her  neck,  and  Annie's  voice  in 
her  ears  had  made  her  understand  that  her  dream 
of  dreams,  her  hope  of  hopes,  had  come  true. 

Lord  Yorath  told  her,  quietly  and  simply,  of  his 


MRS.  BYE  WATER  ON  THE  WATCH    261 

love  for  her  child,  and  Lady  Yorath,  half  laughing, 
and  half  pathetic,  had  held  out  her  arms  and  taken 
Annie's  mother  into  her  soft  embrace.  But  Annette 
could  not  shake  off  the  embarrassment,  the  sadness 
—  almost  the  shame,  that  possessed  her;  even  when 
the  lovers  had  gone  their  way  into  the  old  garden, 
to  find  Annie's  brothers  and  sister;  leaving  the  two 
mothers  alone  to  talk  matters  over. 

If  only  she  had  not  planned  this  thing!  If  she 
had  not  dreamt  of  it,  and  thought  of  it,  and  worked 
for  it.  Yet,  behold,  here  was  Lady  Yorath,  laugh- 
ing, and  confessing  to  the  very  sin  for  which  An- 
nette's cheeks  were  burning  and  her  heart  throb- 
bing. 

"  I  think  I  have  arranged  it  all  most  successfully  I 
I  have  always  longed  to  find  just  such  a  wife  for  my 
boy.  Innocent  and  fair  and  strong  and  beautiful. 
They  loved  each  other  at  first  sight.  It's  a  poem 
' —  a  romance  — " 

"  All  —  all  the  worldly  advantages  are  on  his 
side,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Kemys,  in  a  strangled  voice. 

"  She  is  a  Kemys  of  Nantgwilt.  Do  you  think 
that,  though  I  am  an  alien,  I  don't  know  my  county 
history?"  said  Lady  Yorath,  gently  mocking. 
"  They  are  exactly  matched  in  looks  and  health  and 
intelligence,  just  the  right  age  for  each  other  —  an 
ideal  couple !  Ought  not  the  children  to  be  — " 

"  Oh,  Lady  Yorath !  Was  there  anyone  ever  so 
unworldly?  And  I,  who  nearly  threw  myself  on 
your  mercy  the  day  we  met  at  the  hospital,  to  ask 


262  THE  TYRANT 

you  how  could  Annie  come  to  stay  with  you  —  a  lit- 
tle country  girl,  badly  dressed  —  whose  mother  could 
give  her  nothing —  " 

"  Her  clothes  are  beautiful." 

"Ah  —  a  miracle  happened  —  "  said  Annette, 
smiling  with  pale  lips.  "  But  it  would  need  an- 
other — "  she  looked  with  wistful  light  blue  eyes  half 
drowned  in  tears,  into  those  understanding  sympa- 
thetic brilliant  hazel  eyes  of  Lady  Yorath,  "  it  would 
need  another  miracle  —  before  that  child  who  has 
never  been  outside  this  isolated  country  village  in  her 
life  before  —  could  take  her  place  worthily  as  your 
son's  wife.  Tell  me  what  to  do,  that  she  may  not  be 
shamed, —  that  she  may  not  disappoint  him  — " 

Annette  was  thus  frank,  confessing  her  weakness, 
and  Annie's,  because  instinctively  she  realised  that 
Lady  Yorath  was  of  those  who  would  respond  nobly 
to  such  an  appeal,  and  justify  such  confidence.  For 
if  a  helping  hand  be  wanted,  the  wise  go  not  to  those 
who  have  achieved  greatness,  nor  to  those  who  have 
had  greatness  thrust  upon  them,  but  rather  to  those 
who  were  born  great;  for  these  have  no  petty  jeal- 
ousies, no  affectations,  no  fears  lest  in  helping  others, 
they  should  weaken  their  own  position. 

;'Why!"  Lady  Yorath  opened  her  eyes,  "that 
is  very  simple.  I  came  to  beg  you  to  let  her  come 
to  London  with  me  now.  She  is  such  a  baby,  I  will 
guard  her  innocence  and  her  freshness  jealously,  but 
she  will  learn  just  as  much  of  the  world  as  will  be 


MRS.  EYEWATER  ON  THE  WATCH    263 

necessary  to  make  her  ready  —  for  what  is  to  come." 

"  Oh,  Lady  Yorath  —  "  Annette  wept  outright. 

"  You  are  glad?  Then  why  do  you  cry?  Or  is 
it  that  you  don't  like  him?"  cried  his  mother,  with 
that  petulant  laughter. 

"  Is  there  a  woman  on  earth  who  wouldn't  like 
him?" 

"  I  love  you  for  saying  that.  I  knew  all  the  time, 
of  course,  that  you  must,"  said  Lord  Yorath's  mother. 

The  ecstatic  shrieks  and  wild  rush  of  the  two  little 
brothers  when  Annie  stepped  from  the  porch  into  the 
garden,  calling  them,  —  startled  Sophy,  who  was 
sitting  placidly  over  her  needlework  on  the  bench  be- 
neath the  cedar. 

Manuel  threw  himself  upon  his  sister,  and  as  she 
stooped  to  kiss  him,  laced  his  short  arms  around  her 
neck  and  clung  to  her  with  all  his  strength. 

"  Oh,  Annie,  Annie,  Annie,  you've  come  back," 
he  cried.  "  Me  and  Corney  thought  you  was  never 
coming  —  and  is  your  arm  quite  mended  now?  " 

Corney's  advance  was  almost  as  precipitate,  but  he 
stopped  short,  looking  doubtfully  from  Annie  to  the 
tall  figure  behind  her. 

"  Manuel,"  he  said,  giving  his  usual  pull  of  ad- 
monition to  his  little  brother's  sleeve.  "  There's  a 
gentleman.  And  — " 

"  And  aren't  you  going  to  kiss  me,  Corney?  "  said 
Annie,  merrily.  "  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so?  " 


264  THE  TYRANT 

Corney  stood  still  and  gazed  at  her;  the  colour 
burnt  in  his  honest  handsome  little  face.  There 
were  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"You're  all  changed,"  he  burst  forth.  "You 
don't  look  a  bit  like  our  Annie.  You've  got  fine 
clothes  on,  and  look  like  a  young  lady,  except  your 
arm  in  a  sling." 

The  laugh  that  followed  dispersed  embarrassment. 
Sophy  beaming  with  delight  and  curiosity  advanced 
to  scold  Corney  and  greet  her  sister,  and  Roddy  and 
Courtenay  came  forward,  tennis  rackets  in  hand,  to 
join  the  little  group  before  the  porch. 

It  was  Lord  Yorath  who  gave  Annie  the  oppor- 
tunity for  the  tete-a-tete  with  Sophy  that  both  sisters 
desired,  by  asking  Roddy  if  the  new  guns  were  on 
view;  and  the  little  boys,  perceiving  that  Sophy  meant 
to  tell  them  to  run  away,  wisely  anticipated  her 
orders,  and  followed  the  three  young  men,  at  a  re- 
spectful distance,  to  the  gun  room. 

"  Come  up  to  my  room,  Sophy,"  Annie  said  breath- 
lessly. "  I  have  so  much  to  say,  and  I  can't  say  it 
here.  But  we  must  be  quick,  or  Mamma  will  be 
calling  me.  Better  still,  let  us  go  to  the  summer 
house." 

"  Oh  Annie  —  you  don't  mean  — " 
'Yes,  I  do.     Oh  Sophy!" 

They  sped  through  the  dark  tunnel  of  ilex,  and 
hugged  each  other  in  the  shelter  of  the  arbour, 
where  Annie  very  slowly  drew  the  glove  off  the  hand 


MRS.  EYEWATER  ON  THE  WATCH    265 

in  the  sling,  and  showed  a  circle  of  diamonds  on  the 
third  finger. 

"  I'm  engaged  to  him"  she  said.  "  You  mustn't 
touch  it.  It's  too  sacred  to  be  touched,  but  you  may 
look—" 

"  Oh  Annie,  it  can't  be  true !    Already?  " 

"  Had  you  guessed  anything?  " 

"  Only  that  you  were  in  love  with  him.  What  is 
that  ?  One  falls  in  love  with  anybody,  just  for  fun ! 
But  I  never  dreamt  of  this.  Goodness!  Does  it 
happen  so  quickly  as  that  when  they  make  up  their 
minds,"  said  Sophy,  awestruck. 

"  It  happens  in  a  moment,  and  the  whole  world  is 
changed,"  said  Annie.  "  Oh  Sophy,  I  hope  you  will 
be  as  happy  as  I  am  some  day.  Not  that  there 
could  ever  be  another  like  him." 

"  I  should  not  want  mine  to  be  so  tall,"  said  Sophy, 
"  but  then  I'm  shorter  than  you.  Oh  Annie,  what 
did  he  say?  " 

"As  if  I  could  tell  you,  or  anybody !  What  do 
you  think  Papa  will  say?  That  is  the  question." 

"  What  does  it  matter  what  Papa  says?  Of  course 
he  will  be  disagreeable.  He  always  is.  But  you  can 
marry  whom  you  like  when  you're  twenty-one." 

"  Three  years !  You  don't  suppose  he  would  wait 
three  years,"  cried  Annie,  scarlet.  "  Why  he  wants 
it  to  be  now  at  once.  But  I  said  No.  And  Lady 
Yorath  said  not  till  the  end  of  the  London  season. 
Oh  Sophy,  I  am  going  to  go  to  London  with  them, 


266  THE  TYRANT 

and  spend  the  season  with  them  in  Eaton  Place." 

"  What's  the  good  of  that  when  you're  engaged?  " 
said  practical  Sophy. 

"  Girls  don't  go  to  London  to  look  for  husbands," 
said  Annie,  reproachfully. 

"  What  do  they  go  for  then?  " 

"  Oh,  to  —  to  see  pictures  and  theatres  and  go  to 
balls,  and  meet  people.  And  learn  how  to  dress  and 
do  their  hair  properly,"  said  Annie  vaguely. 

"  I  think  you've  learnt  the  last  two  things,  al- 
ready." 

"  Lady  Yorath  has  taught  me  a  great  deal,"  said 
Annie,  blushing.  "  I  sometimes  think  I  must  be 
dreaming,  Sophy,  it's  all  so  delightful.  Next  season 
you'll  have  to  come  and  stay  with  me." 

"  Perhaps  /  shall  be  engaged  myself  by  that  time," 
said  Sophy,  tossing  her  flaxen  head.  Then  she  re- 
pented and  kissed  her  sister  and  cried  and  said  she 
would  love  to  come,  but  it  did  seem  a  little  unfair 
that  everything  should  come  to  Annie,  even  if  she  was 
the  eldest;  and  that  she  should  be  Lady  Yorath,  and 
have  everyone  flattering  her  while  Sophy,  only  a  year 
younger,  would  be  nobody  at  all. 

Annie  was  too  much  used  to  Sophy's  little  ebulli- 
tions of  jealousy  to  be  moved  by  them;  she  kissed 
away  the  tears,  and  laughed  at  her,  and  long  before 
Roddy  came  in  search  of  them,  they  were  once  more 
deep  in  excited  discussion. 

"  Let  me  have  a  word  with  her,  Sophy.  There's 
tea  laid  under  the  cedar,  and  nobody  to  keep  the 


MRS.  EYEWATER  ON  THE  WATCH    267 

brats  or  the  puppy  from  eating  all  the  cakes,  or  to 
help  my  mother,"  he  cried. 

"Oh,  Roddy,  has  he  told  you?  Or  was  it 
Mamma?  "  said  Annie. 

"  He  told  me,  and  he  did  quite  right.  In  Papa's 
absence  I  was  the  right  person  to  be  told  —  next  to 
Mamma,  of  course."  His  assumption  of  dignity 
touched  Annie  the  more  because  he  looked  so  very 
boyish;  and  she  hugged  him  fondly. 

"If  you  must  marry,  I'd  rather  it  was  him  than 
any  other  fellow.  It's  something  to  be  brother-in- 
law  to  one  of  the  best  shots  in  England  —  but  I  am 
sorry  for — "  he  broke  off  and  grew  red. 

"  Give  Jack  my  love,"  said  Annie  softly,  "  and  tell 
him  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  know  now  it  never,  never 
could  have  been  anyone  but — " 

"  It's  a  good  thing  poor  old  Jack's  going  off  with 
me  to  the  Argentine.  By  the  bye,  Yorath  says  he 
shall  bring  you  out  there  to  see  me." 

'  You  stupid  boy,  that  was  my  idea." 

"  But  I  bet  when  the  time  comes  he'll  go  to  Africa 
or  the  Rocky  Mountains  instead,  which  reminds  me, 
he  is  quite  against  my  changing  the  revolvers,  he 
says  they're  ripping,  so  that's  all  right.  And  he 
knows  Rawlings,  the  fellow  who  came  with  me  to 
choose  them,  and  thinks  no  end  of  him.  You  should 
have  seen  Courtenay's  face.  He  hates  Rawlings." 

"  Where  is  Courtenay?  " 

"  Under  the  cedar,  doing  the  civil,"  said  Rodric, 
looking  disgusted.  "  Of  course  he  rushed  up  to 


268  THE  TYRANT 

titivate  as  soon  as  he  heard  Lady  Yorath  was  Here. 
I  wonder  he  didn't  come  down  in  his  cap  and  gown. 
He's  quite  capable  of  it.  I  left  him  spouting  Latin 
at  her,  and  she  drawing  him  out  like  anything.  He 
never  sees  when  people  are  laughing  at  him,  though 
the  Lord  knows  I've  done  my  best  to  show  him.  I 
say,  we  ought  to  go  and  look  after  them  all." 

"  Yes,  yes,  we  ought.  But  oh,  my  own  old  Roddy 
boy,  give  me  one  good  hug  before  we  go  and  tell  me 
you  are  glad  I  am  so  very,  very  happy.  I  don't 
think  you  half  realize  what  a  lucky,  lucky  girl  your 


sister  is." 


"  I  know  what  a  lucky  chap  he  is,  anyway,"  said 
Roddy,  kissing  her,  "  and  you  needn't  think  I  don't 
see  what  an  awfully  fine  match  it  is  for  you,  Annie. 
I  know  you  wouldn't  think  of  it  in  that  light,  but  as 
a  man  of  the  world  /  can't  be  blind  to  it,"  said 
Roddy,  looking  more  like  an  Eton  boy  home  for  the 
holidays  than  ever. 

"Oh  Roddy,  you  cherub,"  said  Annie.  "Of 
course  I  should  love  him  just  the  same  if  he  were  a 
miner  like  his  grandfather,  but  I  can't  help  being  a 
little  glad  that  he  isn't.  I  wonder  if  Papa  will  see 
it  in  that  light  or  if  he  will  be  —  horrid  about  it" 

"  He  can't  help  being  horrid.  It's  born  in  him, 
poor  chap,"  said  Roddy,  calmly.  "  That's  why  I 
agree  with  Granny  that  the  wisest  thing  I  can  do  is 
to  bunk  before  he  comes  back.  She  believes  he'll  like 
me  a  lot  better  if  I'm  not  here  to  aggravate  him." 


MRS.  EYEWATER  ON  THE  WATCH    269 

'  Why  should  you  aggravate  him?  "  said  Annie, 
indignantly. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Everything  aggravates  him. 
Sometimes  I  wonder  if  the  poor  old  buffer's  a  little 
inclined  to  go  balmy,"  said  Roddy.  An  odd  emo- 
tion made  his  voice  a  trifle  unsteady.  "  And  yet,  do 
you  know,  Annie,  you'll  scarcely  believe  me,  but  I've 
got  a  kind  of  sneaking  affection  for  the  old  governor 
down  in  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  That  is  when  he's 
not  making  my  blood  boil  over  the  way  he  goes  for 
my  mother.  Then  I  can't  help  letting  him  know 
what  I  feel  — " 

'  You've  stood  up  for  her  ever  since  you  were  a 
little  boy.  Perhaps  that's  why  he's  more  down  on 
you  than  he  is  on  any  of  us,"  said  Annie,  squeezing 
his  plump  arm  affectionately.  "  How  I've  hated 
htm  for  it  sometimes.  And  yet,  I  know  what  you 
mean  about  Papa,"  she  said  softly  and  regretfully. 
"  He's  so  big  and  so  strong  and  so  handsome,  and 
one  would  be  so  proud  of  him  if  —  if  only  he  were 
different." 

"  It's  just  that.  It's  not  his  temper,  though  he 
has  got  a  devil  of  a  temper.  One  wouldn't  grudge 
him  a  bit  of  a  turn-up  all  round  now  and  then  to 
work  that  off.  He'd  be  welcome  to  take  it  out  of  me 
if  that  were  all.  But  it's  the  other  things  — " 

'  The  —  the  —  meanness,"  whispered  Annie, 
"  the  motives  he  attributes  to  everybody  —  the  want- 
ing to  get  the  better  of  everybody  — " 


27o  THE  TYRANT 

"  What's  the  good  of  going  into  it  all,"  said 
Roddy,  gloomily.  "He  was  built  like  it,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"And  she  loves  him,"  said  Annie;  her  blue  eyes 
grew  thoughtful. 

"  I  suppose  he  wasn't  always  —  what  he  is  now," 
said  Roddy. 

When  the  Yoraths  had  gone  away,  taking  Annie 
with  them,  Mrs.  Kemys  went  to  her  own  room,  and 
to  her  favourite  seat  by  the  window,  looking  out  over 
the  quiet  landscape. 

The  tumult  roused  in  her  heart  was  not  yet 
stilled. 

The  romance  of  Lord  Yorath's  tender  worship  of 
her  child,  and  of  Annie's  happiness, —  had  brought 
back  to  her,  as  was  natural,  memories  of  other  days. 
Days  when  she  too  had  basked  in  the  beams  of  that 
glorious  sun  which  rises  but  once  in  a  life-time,  light- 
ing so  vividly  the  golden  mirage  created  by  desire, 
that  young  lovers  believe  it  to  be  the  vision  of  their 
future  which  they  behold,  lying  unveiled  before  their 
eager  eyes.  For  Annette  the  illusion  had  faded  with 
the  passing  of  those  bright  far  off  days ;  but  there  re- 
mained love  —  sorrowful,  mortified,  but  unchang- 
ing. 

Richard's  child  had  come  up  to  that  sacred  room 
where  her  blue  eyes  had  first  opened  upon  the  world, 
and  had  clasped  her  mother  to  her  soft  breast,  and 
bent  her  fair  head  protectingly  over  that  weeping 


MRS.  EYEWATER  ON  THE  WATCH    271 

face.  Though  Annie  was  her  mother's  living  image, 
her  personality  held  something  of  her  father's 
strength ;  her  features  were  a  thought  nobler  than  her 
mother's ;  her  eyes  a  deeper  blue. 

Annette  looked  upon  her  and  beheld  in  her  the  liv- 
ing embodiment  of  Richard's  love  and  her  own;  and 
for  Richard's  sake  no  less  than  for  her  own,  her 
heart  yearned  over  her  daughter. 

She  laid  her  thin  hands  on  either  side  of  the  pure 
lovely  face,  and  gazed  into  the  gay  blue  eyes. 

"  The  same,  yet  never  the  same.  You  will  be  his, 
not  mine  any  more.  It  is  nature.  Oh  my  Annie, 
thank  God  he  is  what  he  is.  Gentle,  noble,  courteous, 
kind  — " 

"  I  have  thanked  God  for  that  many  times,"  said 
Annie,  very  simply.  "  But  now,  Mamma,  I  want  to 
see  you  smiling.  You  are  not  to  be  crying  and  senti- 
mentalizing over  me.  As  Papa  isn't  here  to  frown  at 
us  all,  we  need  not  be  afraid  of  showing  how  happy 
we  are  for  once.  And  remember,  darling,  I  shan't  be 
far  off  even  when  —  when  I  do  go  to  him  —  for  al- 
ways —  oh,  Mamma  —  it  sounds  too  good  to  be 
true  !  —  But  whatever  happens  I  shall  always  be  your 
own  Annie,  your  own  little  girl,  just  as  I  have  always 
been." 

Now  she  was  gone;  that  bright  embodiment  of 
youth  and  love  and  loveliness;  and  the  twilight  crept 
into  the  corners  of  the  familiar  room,  changing  it 
mysteriously. 


272  THE  TYRANT 

Annette  took  from  her  wardrobe  a  little  oval  in- 
laid work  box  and  fitted  into  the  lock  a  tiny  gilt  key 
which  hung  upon  her  watch  chain. 

She  rested  upon  the  window  seat,  with  the  casket 
open  in  her  lap ;  a  middle-aged  woman,  with  thin  hair 
parted  above  a  careworn  brow;  straining  her  eyes  in 
the  failing  light  to  read  again  the  love  letters  of  her 
youth.  There  were  not  so  very  many  after  all. 

Richard's  wooing  had  been  impatient  and  his 
courtship  brief. 

"  My  own  dear  sweet  little  Annette, 

"  I  have  just  got  your  letter  and  I  don't  know 
how  to  thank  you  for  it.  I  am  not  worthy  of  your  de- 
votion and  never  could  be,  but  in  a  world  where  I,  at 
least,  have  never  found  a  true  friend,  I  know  how  to 
value  it.  You  are  an  angel,  as  true  as  you  are  lovely. 
I  know  that  neither  your  father  nor  anyone  else  could 
make  you  disloyal  to  me.  I  believe  in  you  absolutely, 
and  love  you  with  all  my  heart.  Come  to  me  soon, 
darling,  and  I  swear  I  will  make  you  happy  now  and 
always. 

"  Your  own  Rex." 

That  was  how  he  had  written  to  her  in  her  spring- 
time; and  now,  in  the  autumn  of  life  he  wrote,  "  Dear 
Annette,"  and  denied  her  the  only  boon,  the  just  and 
reasonable  boon  she  had  craved  from  him,  before  he 
left  her  —  perhaps  for  ever.  The  sound  of  the  last 
three  words  rather  frightened  her. 


MRS.  EYEWATER  ON  THE  WATCH    273 

The  room  was  full  of  memories  of  Richard ;  as  he 
had  been,  and  as  he  was.  She  glanced  about  it  un- 
easily, and  remembered  that  she  was  deceiving  him. 

What  if  he  never  came  back? 

But  if  she  had  not  deceived  him,  Annie  would  not 
have  found  this  great  and  wonderful  good  fortune 
which  had  come  to  her. 

All  fair  means  she  had  tried.  She  had  pleaded 
with  him,  to  be  allowed  to  bring  a  little  brightness, 
a  little  gaiety,  a  little  freedom  into  her  child's  life, 
that  the  chances  of  happiness  in  her  youth  might  not 
be  denied  her;  and  Richard  had  not  been  moved. 
He  would  not  have  cared  though  Annie  had  missed 
those  chances  of  happiness  altogether. 

He  had  been  deaf  to  her  petulant  demands,  and  to 
her  mother's  meek  entreaties;  and  now,  for  Annie's 
sake  his  wife  had  fought  him  in  his  absence,  stealthily 
—  and  in  the  dark ;  and  won  the  battle  she  had  waged 
against  his  selfishness,  his  indifference,  and  his  short- 
sightedness to  his  child's  best  interests  and  his  own. 

And  here  was  Annie  come  into  her  kingdom  of 
beauty  and  womanhood  and  love;  reigning  victori- 
ously over  the  heart  of  a  true  man  and  a  noble  gen- 
tleman. 

How  could  she  regret  what  she  had  done  ? 

Yet  she  cried  to  him  in  spirit  for  forgiveness,  as 
she  looked  fearfully  round  the  darkening  room. 

Suppose  he  never  came  back?  How  could  she  bear 
to  go  through  the  rest  of  her  life  feeling  that  she  had 
betrayed  the  blind  confidence  he  had  always  reposed 


274  THE  TYRANT 

in  her  absolute  devotion;  a  confidence  which  had 
seemed  to  her  sometimes  pathetic,  for  how  little  he 
had  done  to  deserve  the  continued  unswerving  sub- 
mission upon  which  he  counted  so  confidently. 

He  had  strained  her  endurance  almost  to  breaking 
point  many  times,  but  she  had  never  failed  him ;  and 
she  knew  that  in  his  heart  he  believed  in  her  as  he  be- 
lieved in  nothing  else  on  earth.  How  would  his 
faith  in  all  things  crumble  when  he  discovered  that 
he  had  counted  in  vain  upon  his  wife's  loyalty.  It 
was  unthinkable.  She  saw  him  aroused  —  incredu- 
lous —  then  his  wrath  —  rising  from  incredulity  to 
fury  —  to  madness —  She  shivered  not  from  fear 
for  herself,  but  for  him. 

She  had  chafed  beneath  his  tyranny  often;  it  had 
robbed  her  of  her  spirits,  her  gaiety,  her  natural  joy 
in  life.  It  had  brought  her  pain,  weariness,  disap- 
pointment, grief.  But  the  disquiet  had  come  from 
without,  not  from  within. 

Her  soul  had  remained  calm,  her  conscience  clear; 
of  her  peace  of  mind  Richard's  tyranny  had  never 
been  able  to  rob  her. 

Now  her  soul  was  troubled  within  her ;  the  sin  of 
her  deception  lay  heavily  upon  her  conscience  and 
through  her  own  action  her  peace  of  mind  was  gone. 

11 1  have  tasted  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowl- 
edge, and  it  has  made  me  in  love  with  innocence," 
she  sighed,  and  kissed  the  little  worn  love  letter  she 
held,  for  the  sake  of  the  days  when  it  had  told  the 
truth. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MR.   CANTRILL  AT  ST.   NEVYNS 

MR.  TURLEY  sat  opposite  his  old  friend  and  client 
in  the  garden  of  the  cottage,  where  Howell  had  laid 
out  a  little  tea-table  in  the  shade  of  the  lilacs. 

Old  Mrs.  Kemys  in  her  mushroom  hat,  and  wrapt 
in  her  spotless  shawl, —  enjoyed  nothing  more  than 
a  quiet  talk  over  her  tea  with  her  contemporary; 
and  his  visits  had  increased  in  frequency  since  Rich- 
ard's absence,  as  her  pleasure  in  them  had  also  in- 
creased. 

Mr.  Turley  was  in  the  habit  of  receiving  quite  as 
much  advice  from  old  Mrs.  Kemys  as  he  gave;  but 
even  this  fact  did  not  act  as  a  deterrent.  He  had 
fallen  into  the  habit  of  driving  over  to  Llanon  when 
he  had  shut  up  his  office,  on  a  fine  afternoon,  to  enjoy, 
as  he  said,  the  pure  air  of  the  hills. 

At  this  season  of  the  year  the  damp  mists  were  less 
prevalent,  or  at  least  only  rose  with  the  fall  of  night. 

He  walked  his  old  horse  up  the  steep  ascent,  and 
put  up  his  trap  at  the  Kemys  Arms,  that  ancient  hos- 
telry that  stood  opposite  the  ramparts  which  enclosed 
the  cottage  and  its  little  plot  of  garden  from  view. 

The  villagers  smiled  when  they  saw  him  come  out 
275 


276  THE  TYRANT 

of  the  stable-yard,  and  walk  across  the  road  to  the 
green  door  in  that  great  ivy-covered  wall. 

They  said  to  each  other  that  if  the  pair  had  been 
a  score  of  years  younger  there  would  have  been  a 
match;  and  that  Lawyer  Turley  ought  to  have  got 
married  years  ago,  since  all  the  world  knew  he  had 
made  a  good  bit  of  money;  and  who  was  he  saving 
it  for,  after  all? 

He  was  very  much  respected  in  Llysdinam,  and 
indeed  all  over  the  neighbourhood;  and  the  inhab- 
itants of  Llanon  liked  to  welcome  him  among  them ; 
a  brisk  little  figure  with  low-crowned  hat  and  trim 
white  whiskers,  carrying  always  a  neat  umbrella,  and 
wearing  always  an  overcoat  and  a  silk  kerchief 
wrapped  about  his  throat,  for  he  was  subject  to  bron- 
chitis, and  took  great  care  of  himself.  Old  Mrs. 
Kemys,  who  sat  out  of  doors  in  all  weathers,  never 
had  tea  brought  out  on  to  the  lawn  without  first  as- 
certaining whether  he  thought  the  day  sufficiently 
warm. 

On  this  particular  evening  it  was  so  warm  that  he 
discarded  the  silk  handkerchief,  folding  it  carefully 
and  bestowing  it  in  the  pocket  of  his  coat,  which  he 
wore  unbuttoned. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  lady,"  he  said,  observing  a  smile 
on  the  face  of  his  hostess,  "  you  think  that  on  such 
a  May-day  as  this,  even  an  old  fellow  need  not 
trouble  to  wear  a  neck-cloth  driving.  But  I  know 
my  own  constitution,  and  I  have  one  motto,  which 


MR.  CANTRILL  AT  ST.  NEVYNS      277 

has  preserved  my  health  and  happiness,  and  that  is, 
wrop  up  the  toobs." 

The  younger  members  of  the  Kemys  family  had 
often  laughed  at  this  motto,  or  at  the  lawyer's  pro- 
nunciation of  it,  but  old  Mrs.  Kemys  protested. 

"  If  I  laughed,  it  was  not  at  your  silk  comforter, 
but  because  I  am  in  such  good  spirits.  I  could  not 
help  dropping  you  a  line  at  once." 

'  Well,  well,  well !  But  I  suppose  it  is  all  a  dead 
secret,  eh?  "  said  Mr.  Turley,  drawing  his  seat  closer 
to  the  wheel-chair,  and  chuckling. 

"  Not  a  soul  is  to  know  anything  about  it,  of 
course,  until  my  son  has  signified  his  consent.  Ex- 
cept Mrs.  Eyewater,  who  had  to  be  told  in  confidence, 
or  she  would  have  been  spreading  her  surmises  all 
over  the  neighbourhood." 

Neither  of  the  speakers  made  any  pretence  to 
lower  their  voices,  though  Howell  was  hovering  over 
the  tea-table  pouring  out  the  tea,  and  handing  the 
hot  cakes  she  had  made  specially  for  Mr.  Turley. 

The  idea  of  attempting  to  keep  a  secret  from  How- 
ell,  if  it  ever  existed,  had  been  dismissed  from  the 
mind  of  old  Mrs.  Kemys  thirty  or  forty  years  ago. 
The  discreet  handmaiden  hardly  troubled  to  listen 
to  the  conversation  of  her  mistress  with  her  guests; 
so  certain  was  she  of  hearing  it  again  in  every  detail 
before  she  had  finished  putting  the  old  lady  to  bed. 

"  Well,  I  should  suppose  the  consent  can  only  be 
a  matter  of  form.  Miss  Annie  has  carried  off  the 


278  THE  TYRANT 

greatest  parti  in  the  country,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, pleasantly. 

"  One  would  suppose  Richard  might  be  satisfied," 
said  Mrs.  Kemys,  drily,  "  but  who  can  prophesy  what 
would  satisfy  Richard?  That  will  do,  Howell,  we 
have  all  we  want,  and  Mr.  Turley  can  do  the  rest  of 
the  waiting  on  himself;  you  have  fidgetted  about 
quite  enough." 

"  Now  that  we  are  alone,"  said  Mr.  Turley,  when 
the  spare,  black-clad  form  of  the  sour-faced  but  dig- 
nified maiden  had  disappeared  round  the  corner  of 
the  cottage,  "  I  should  like  to  hear  what  you  think  of 
her  —  of  Annette  herself." 

Mrs.  Kemys  shook  her  head. 

"  She  grows  whiter  and  thinner,  and  sadder  every 
day,"  she  said,  emphatically.  "  What  has  become 
of  her  old  spirit  it  is  difficult  to  say." 

"  Broken,"  said  the  lawyer,  shortly. 

"  Not  that,  or  she  would  never  have  had  the  cour- 
age to  act  as  she  has  done.  Lord,  in  her  place  I 
should  be  chuckling  from  morning  till  night.  Look 
at  the  change  that  has  come  over  Nantgwilt !  Here 
is  young  Roddy- safely  started  off  in  the  best  of  spirits 
with  Jack  Meredydd  — " 

'  With  excellent  prospects,"  said  the  lawyer  em- 
phatically. "  I  remember  John  Meredydd,  a  differ- 
ent kind  of  man  from  his  brother,  the  parson,  but  if 
I  had  a  son  I  know  no  one  to  whom  I'd  rather  con- 
fide him." 

'  Yes,  yes.     Annette  is  convinced  of  that,  and  that 


MR.  CANTRILL  AT  ST.  NEVYNS     279 

Roddy  will  be  far  happier  out  there  than  in  the  City. 
She  has  no  fears  for  Roddy.  And  as  for  Annie,  the 
child's  good  fortune  passes  belief.  As  I  say,  instead 
of  the  old  gloom  and  restlessness  and  discontent  in 
the  Manor  House  there  has  been  a  regular  wave  of 
brightness  come  over  the  children's  lives  since  —  in 
plain  English,  since  poor  Richard  took  himself  off. 
Look  at  Sophy ;  she  is  a  different  creature,  goes  about 
singing  at  the  top  of  her  voice.  Out  of  tune,  but 
what  does  that  signify?  Corney  doing  as  well  as 
possible  at  school,  poor  little  fellow,  and  Manuel 
taken  at  last  to  London  to  be  examined  by  a  special- 
ist, the  course  I  have  urged  upon  Richard  for  the  last 
two  years." 

"What  is  the  result?" 

"  Just  what  I  expected.  He  has  taken  the  first 
steps  along  the  way  poor  little  Lucy  went.  Why  — 
is  a  mystery.  There  never  was  any  consumption  in 
our  families,  nor,  so  far  as  Annette  is  aware,  in  hers. 
But  Dr.  Harries  says  Manuel  has  too  feeble  a  con- 
stitution to  stand  the  mists  of  this  basin  among  the 
hills  in  autumn  and  winter." 

"What  is  to  be  done?" 

"  The  London  doctor  says  a  couple  of  months  at 
Davos  will  not  only  arrest,  but  he  believes  actually 
cure  the  disease;  it  has  hardly  developed.  He  is  to 
be  sent  off  at  once  to  Switzerland,  with  a  trained 
nurse.  Old  Sharman  has  come  back  from  town, 
where  Lady  Yorath  has  found  another  maid  for 
Annie,  and  she  is  to  take  them  out  there,  and  settle 


280  THE  TYRANT 

them.  I  don't  suppose  she  will  be  able  to  stop,  but 
Manuel  is  too  nervous  to  be  sent  off  alone  with  a 
stranger." 

"  Why  does  not  his  mother  take  him?  It  would 
do  her  all  the  good  in  the  world." 

"  She  is  afraid.  She  is  not  telling  Richard,  or  she 
would  have  a  cable  forbidding  it.  You  know  he 
never  would  consent  to  poor  little  Lucy's  going.  He 
thinks  changes  of  climate  all  nonsense.  No.  An- 
nette remains  on  duty  at  Nantgwilt,  and  writes  from 
here  and  tells  him  —  nothing.  He  will  have  — "  she 
laughed  sardonically,  "  quite  a  series  of  pleasant  sur- 
prises on  his  return." 

"  Perhaps  little  Manuel's  break-down  would  ac- 
count for  her  depression,"  said  Mr.  Turley,  shaking 
his  head. 

"  I  don't  think  so.  She  has  never  taken  a  de- 
spondent view.  She  came  back  from  London  much 
more  cheerful  than  she  went;  the  specialist  was  so 
hopeful.  As  she  said  —  to  be  able  to  do  something 
is  always  a  comfort.  To  have  to  sit  still  and  do 
nothing  is  heartrending.  But  everything  possible 
will  be  done.  The  doctor  said  the  boy  might  go  to 
school  later  at  Brighton  or  some  bracing  seaside 
place.  No,  no,  it  is  not  the  anxiety  about  little  Man- 
uel that  is  weighing  her  down.  It  is  the  prospect  of 
facing  Richard  — on  his  return.  Think  of  the 
money  she  has  spent  —  perhaps  she  has  been  almost 
too  reckless, —  or  you  in  supplying  her." 

"  My  dear  lady,"  said  Mr.  Turley,  with  a  grim 


MR.  CANTRILL  AT  ST.  NEVYNS      281 

smile,  "  I  hold  ample  security  for  every  penny  I  have 
advanced." 

"  So  I  supposed.  Still,  Richard  has  all  his  wits 
about  him  — " 

"  Perhaps  he  has  outwitted  himself  for  once,"  said 
the  lawyer,  drily. 

"  If  he  can  get  out  of  repaying  you  he  will,"  she 
said,  with  some  uneasiness. 

'  You  may  leave  me  to  take  care  of  myself." 

'  Well  —  of  course  I  am  quite  in  the  dark.  An- 
nette thought  it  best  I  should  be  able  to  say  I  knew 
nothing  about  it." 

"  Much  the  best." 

'  You  see,  he  could  punish  me  by  keeping  my 
grandchildren  away."  Suddenly  her  voice  broke. 
"  Sometimes  I  think  I  have  been  mad  to  urge  her  to 
defy  him ;  for  God  knows  he  will  punish  her  when  he 
returns." 

"  She  is,  happily,  in  a  position  to  dictate  terms," 
said  Mr.  Turley,  and  the  light  of  battle  shone  from 
his  small  keen  eyes,  "  and  I  am  at  her  back.  I  will 
save  her  from  her  own  weakness." 

"  Have  you  thought  —  forgive  me,  what  her  posi- 
tion would  be  if  —  if  anything  — " 

"If  anything  happened  to  me?  Oh,  dear,  yes," 
said  Mr.  Turley  cheerfully.  "  It  was  the  very  first 
thing  I  thought  of.  Richard  Kemys  will  have  to 
reckon  with  some  very  much  more  important  legal 
luminaries  than  I  —  if  it  pleases  God  to  remove  me 
before  his  return." 


282  THE  TYRANT 

"  That  is  a  comfort,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys. 

"  Your  remark  is  not  complimentary,"  he  said, 
laughing,  "  but  I  am  glad  to  relieve  your  mind  even 
at  the  cost  of  a  blow  to  my  own  vanity." 

Mrs.  Kemys  apologised. 

"  I  did  not  mean  it  in  that  sense.  Well  —  then 
the  only  remaining  trouble  is  that  I  should  like  to 
see  Annie  safely  marriedibefore  his  return." 

"  So  many  of  your  wishes  have  been  accomplished 
that  you  need  not  despair,"  he  said,  "  and  I  think  I 
may  tell  you,  in  confidence,  that  Lady  Yorath  is  very 
much  of  your  mind  on  that  point." 

"  No  one  could  have  behaved  more  charmingly 
than  she  has  over  the  whole  matter,"  said  Mrs. 
Kemys,  warmly.  "  She  came  here  on  her  way  home, 
and  said  very  pretty  things  to  me  of  Annie.  I  took 
it  very  kind  of  her  and  uncommonly  civil,  for  most 
mothers  rather  stand  in  the  way  of  their  sons'  marry- 
ing than  help  them  to  it." 

"  She  has  known  some  lonely  years,"  said  the  law- 
yer, shaking  his  head.  "  I  fancy,  apart  from  her 
liking  for  Miss  Annie,  that  she  longs  to  see  him  set- 
tled in  his  home  before  the  wandering  life  gets  hold 
of  him  for  good  and  all.  He  is  in  his  thirtieth  year, 
you  know,  and  if  anything  happens  to  him  —  why, 
there  is  no  one  to  come  after  him.  Small  wonder  if 
she  pines  for  some  little  Yoraths.  And  depend 
upon  it,  if  she  is  allowing  a  short  time  to  elapse  now 
before  the  fulfilment  of  her  wishes,  it  is  for  a  very 


MR.  CANTRILL  AT  ST.  NEVYNS      283; 

good  reason.  Miss  Annie  will  know  her  way  about 
all  the  better,  for  having  had  a  preliminary  peep 
into  the  great  world  with  so  clever  a  woman  as  Lady 
Yorath  to  guide  her.  Well,  well.  I  wish  the  young 
lady  every  happiness;  but  when  all  is  said  and  done 
she  will  never  be  so  pretty  as  I  remember  her 
mother." 

;'  That  is  a  point  on  which  we  never  agree,"  said 
the  old  lady,  pursing  up  her  lips. 

Sophy  had  perhaps  reasons  of  her  own  for  being 
in  such  good  spirits  that  she  was  inspired  to  raise 
her  tuneless  voice  and  sing,  as  she  moved  through 
the  dark  rooms  of  the  old  Manor  House;  with  her 
flaxen  hair  taking  golden  lights  from  the  sunshine 
that  streamed  through  the  open  windows,  and  her 
plump  pink  and  white  face  beaming  with  pleasure 
and  energy. 

In  Annie's  absence  she  could  take  the  initiative  to 
her  heart's  content;  and  since  her  mother's  watchful- 
ness had  relaxed  strangely  of  late,  Sophy  had  picked 
up  the  dropped  reins  of  household  government,  and 
now  held  them  securely  in  her  own  capable  white 
hands.  Mrs.  Sharman  protested,  but  what  could  she 
do?  She  was  on  the  eve  of  departing  to  Switzer- 
land with  her  beloved  youngest  nurseling;  and  had 
been  away  so  many  weeks  that  her  authority  had  lost 
much  of  its  weight. 

She  attempted  remonstrance  with  her  lady,  but 


284  THE  TYRANT 

Mrs.  Kemys  only  smiled  vaguely,  and  was  not  to 
be  roused  to  take  action,  nor  to  check  the  forward- 
ness of  her  child. 

"  Miss  Sophy  takes  too  much  upon  herself,  ma'am, 
and  the  whole  house  is  talking  about  it.  Even  the 
outdoor  folk  puts  in  their  word.  There  is  nothing 
done,  indoor  or  out,  but  what  she  knows  it." 

"  What  can  I  do,  Sharman?  The  child  is  a  child 
no  longer.  She  is  nearly  eighteen.  She  will  take 
her  sister's  place  as  eldest  daughter  at  home." 

"  Miss  Annie  was  very  different.  When  did 
she  think  to  interfere  in  the  store-room  and 
kitchen,  far  less  the  stables?  What  would  her 
Papa  say?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  he  will  have  something  to  say  about 
a  good  many  things  when  he  comes  back,"  said  Mrs. 
Kemys,  with  a  melancholy  smile. 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  facing  him,  for  one,"  said 
Sharman,  but  her  ruddy  face  paled,  and  she  forgot 
Sophy's  misdemeanours  for  the  moment.  "  Oh, 
ma'am,  I  hope  you're  well-advised,"  she  said  under 
her  breath,  "  you  don't  need  me  to  tell  you  what  Mr. 
Richard  can  be,  when  he's  angered." 

"No,  Sharman." 

"  Miss  Annie  and  all,  it  must  have  cost  you  a  deal 
of  money.  To  be  sure,  nothing's  too  good  for  her, 
and  when  I  think  what  its  led  to  —  and  her  making 
this  splendid  marriage,  I  wouldn't  have  the  heart 
to  blame  any  lady  that  went  against  her  husband  for 
that\  since  we  all  know  gentlemen  never  troubles 


MR.  CANTRILL  AT  ST.  NEVYNS      285 

themselves  to  think  how  a  young  lady  is  to  get  a  hus- 
band—  but — " 

"  For  what,  then,  would  you  have  the  heart  to 
blame  me,  dear  Sharman,  if  not  for  that?  For  giv- 
ing my  boy  his  start  in  life,  who  should  be  the  heir 
to  this  great  property,  and  would  have  been  forced 
to  borrow  money  from  the  parson's  son  for  his  very 
outfit—" 

"  God  forbid  Master  Roddy  should  lack  any- 
thing, and  him  going  to  the  end  of  the  world,"  said 
Sharman,  beginning  to  cry. 

;<  What  is  it  you  grudge,  then,  Sharman?  Is  it 
little  Corney's  cricket-bat  and  flannels,  that  sent  him 
off  to  school  happy,  instead  of  crying;  or  Courte- 
nay's  books  that  are  to  help  his  work  at  College; 
or  the  new  chintz  for  Sophy's-  bedroom?  These 
are  not  necessaries,  I  know,  like  the  other  things  I 
have  bought,  for  God  knows  my  children  had  scarce 
clothes  to  their  backs;  but  they  help  to  make  their 
young  lives  happy  and  their  home  pleasant  to  them. 
Or  is  it  that  you  blame  me  for  trying  to  save  my 
baby's  life?  Lucy's  little  brother,  whom  she  is  call- 
ing to  follow  her  into  the  world  of  shadows,"  said 
Mrs.  Kemys  softly.  "  For  sending  little  Manuel 
away  with  his  old  nurse  to  look  for  health  among 
the  Swiss  mountains.  You're  not  blaming  me  for 
that?" 

"Oh,  ma'am,  how  could  you  think  it?  What 
else  could  you  do?  But  I'll  bring  him  back  to  you 
well  and  strong,"  said  Sharman  sobbing. 


286  THE  TYRANT 

"  I  haven't  spent  anything  on  myself,  Sharman. 
That  is  the  only  shred  of  excuse  —  the  forlorn  bit 
of  comfort  I  offer  to  my  own  conscience.  Look  at 
me.  I  am  as  shabby  as  I  ever  was.  I  looked  in 
the  shops  in  London,  and  thought  what  I  could  buy 
to  make  myself  more  like  Lady  Yorath,  who  looks 
ten  years  younger  than  I.  I  saw  how  much  might 
be  done,  even  though  her  face  is  not  faded,  nor  her 
hair  grown  thin  like  mine  — " 

"  She  never  had  seven  children  to  rob  her  of  her 
looks,"  said  Sharman,  with  homely  directness.  "  If 
she  wants  to  see  what  you  was,  let  her  look  at  Miss 
Annie.  You've  given  her  your  beautiful  gold  hair, 
ma'am,  and  you  don't  grudge  it  neither.  Howell 
and  me  had  words  on  that  very  subject  lately.  She's 
that  proud  of  her  thread-paper  waist,  and  casts  it  up 
to  me,  as  I'm  a  bit  stouter  than  I  could  wish  to  be. 
'  But,  Howell,'  I  says  to  her,  '  if  there's  one  thing  in 
this  world  more  pitiful  than  another  it's  to  hear  a 
woman  as  has  never  borne  children  boasting  to  one 
as  has,  that  she's  kept  her  figure  — '  " 

"  Dear  Sharman,  I  wish  you  would  not  quarrel 
with  Howell." 

"  Life  would  be  very  dull,  ma'am,  if  one  never  had 
a  word  with  anyone,"  said  Sharman,  excusing  her- 
self. "  It's  she  as  casts  the  pepper  at  me  before  I 
throws  the  mustard  back.  And  if  it  comes  to  that, 
ma'am,"  dexterously  changing  the  conversation,  "  I 
wish  you  had  got  yourself  a  few  new  things.  With 
Miss  Sophy  rigged  out  like  a  princess,  and  new  cov- 


MR.  CANTRILL  AT  ST.  NEVYNS     287 

ers  for  the  drawing-room  chairs,  it's  hard  you  can't 
have  a  new  gown  to  your  back,  if  you'll  excuse  me, 
ma'am.  Though  I'll  not  deny  we  must  save  some- 
where, with  the  way  the  money's  been  poured  out 
lately,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh  in  which  awe  and  curi- 
osity were  mingled.  "  Only  when  it  comes  to  put- 
ting the  cottages  in  order  as  could  very  well  wait  till 
the  master  comes  home  — " 

"  And  how  much  longer  would  they  have  to  wait? 
Do  you  know  the  water  came  through  the  roof  on  to 
the  bed  where  old  Gwyn  Godden  slept  —  would  you 
have  me  buy  myself  gowns  before  I  attended  to 
that?" 

"  I  know,  ma'am,"  said  Sharman,  in  subdued 
tones.  "  But  as  Pugh  says,  once  you  begin  where 
are  you  going  to  end?  There's  lots  of  the  cottages 
in  a  dreadful  state,  but  it  don't  pay  to  put  them  right, 
and  he's  shaking  in  his  shoes  at  the  thought  of  what 
the  master  will  say  when  he  comes  home.  If  it 
wasn't  as  Mr.  Richard  told  him  himself  he  was  to 
go  to  you  for  orders  and  not  to  Mr.  Machon,  he'd 
have  gone  to  ask  Mr.  Machon  about  it.  Not  to  go 
against  you,  but  because  he's  so  feared  for  all  the 
expense  you're  going  to,  and  thinks  as  being  a  lady 
you're  not  responsible  like.  But  as  it  is,  he's  doing 
his  best  to  keep  the  goings-on  at  the  cottages  away 
from  Mr.  Machon's  knowledge,  on  account  of  his 
letter  from  the  Squire  that  he  wouldn't  have  no  in- 
terference from  that  quarter.  Luckily,  Pugh  has 
kept  the  letter  to  remind  the  master  what  his  orders 


288  THE  TYRANT 

was.  But  for  all  that  he's  that  upset  he  says  he  can't 
hardly  sleep  at  night,  and  only  for  knowing  Mr.  Tur- 
ley  is  advising  you,  he  would  take  and  write  to  the 
Squire  himself." 

"  I  will  take  care  that  neither  Pugh  nor  Mr. 
Machon  nor  anyone  else  knows  where  to  write,"  said 
Annette. 

Sharman  departed  with  little  Manuel,  in  com- 
pany with  the  trained  nurse,  who  exhibited  all  the 
tact  that  could  be  desired  by  making  fast  friends  with 
the  old  woman  before  she  attempted  to  gain  the 
much  more  easily  won  affections  of  the  little  boy. 

Manuel  was  so  elated  at  the  prospect  of  a  journey 
to  Switzerland  that  he  forgot  his  lamentations  for 
his  brother's  absence,  and  showed  no  more  feeling 
in  leaving  his  mother  than  a  child  of  his  age  usually 
does  under  such  circumstances. 

Mrs.  Kemys  and  Sophy  went  to  the  station  to  see 
him  off,  and  as  the  train  departed  he  waved  his 
sailor  hat  ecstatically;  his  great  blue  eyes  shining, 
and  his  little  transparent  face  all  flushed  and  smiling 
with  excitement.  It  was  old  Sharman  who  shed  tears 
at  parting,  not  little  Manuel. 

"  It's  always  the  same,"  said  the  sympathetic 
nurse  to  the  old  woman,  "  we  eat  our  hearts  out  for 
them,  and  they  don't  know,  and  don't  care." 

''Who  would  wish  them  to  know?  Not  I,  God 
bless  them,"  said  Sharman,  and  she  kissed  the  re- 
luctant Manuel  passionately. 


MR.  CANTRILL  AT  ST.  NEVYNS      289 

Thus,  since  Courtenay  had  returned  to  Oxford, 
only  Sophy  and  her  mother,  of  all  the  family,  now 
remained  at  the  Manor  House. 

"  My  dear,  it  will  be  very  dull  for  you,"  said  An- 
nette, wondering  at  the  brightness  of  Sophy's  face. 
Sophy,  who  was  given  to  complainings,  and  had  been, 
of  all  her  children,  the  discontented  one. 

"  No,  Mamma,  I  am  never  dull.  There  is  al- 
ways something  to  do.  And  I  do  not  at  all  mind 
being  alone.  Everybody  has  always,  been  consid- 
ered before  me;  so  that  now  I  am  the  only  one  left 
to  be  considered,  you  may  suppose  I  enjoy  getting 
my  turn  at  last.  You  will  see,  the  new  covers  for  the 
drawing-room  will  all  be  finished  before  Annie  comes 
home.  She  will  hardly  know  the  place.  And  our 
bedroom  will  be  another  surprise  for  her.  She  will 
find  it  quite  as  nice  as  the  one  she  had  at  Artramont ; 
for  since  you  let  me  get  the  muslin  and  ribbon  I 
wanted  I  have  found  it  quite  easy  to  do  the  dressing- 
table  as  she  described,  and  the  new  curtains  are  love- 
ly. Of  course  an  oak-panelled  room  can  never  look 
as  bright  as  a  nice  new  wall-paper,"  said  Sophy, 
calmly,  "  but  it  is  wonderful  what  a  little  muslin  and 
ribbon  will  do." 

Sophy  was  herself  a  living  example  of  this  won- 
der. She  now  presented  a  dainty  picture,  very  unlike 
the  discontented  maiden  in  the  washed-out  blue  cot- 
ton frock,  who  had  grumbled,  and  gone  primrosing, 
and  carried  the  baskets. 

Since  Annie  had  appeared  with  her  hair  dressed  in 


29o  THE  TYRANT 

a  new  and  wonderful  manner  suggested  by  Lady 
Yorath's  clever  French  maid,  Sophy  had  not  been 
slow  to  imitate  her.  Now  her  own  flaxen  tresses 
were  waved  and  widened  above  her  piquant  little  fair 
face. 

Her  gown  was  white  and  fresh,  and  trimly  buckled 
with  blue  ribbon  about  her  dainty  waist.  She  wore 
the  smartest  little  neat  shoes. 

Even  if  she  had  had  no  other  cause  for  happiness, 
the  contemplation  of  herself  in  the  glass  would  have 
brought  smiles  to  Sophy's  face. 

She  was  industrious  and  house-proud,  and  loved 
to  decorate  the  rooms  in  which  she  lived;  but  still 
better  did  she  love  to  decorate  her  own  little  person. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  Mr.  Cantrill,  returning  to 
spend  a  few  days  with  the  rector,  in  order  to  com- 
plete the  sketches  he  was  making  of  the  tombs  in  the 
old  church  —  thought  Sophy  the  prettiest  and  most 
bewitching  creature  he  had  ever  beheld. 

He  was  a  gentle  and  gentlemanly  clergyman,  pos- 
sessed of  a  pair  of  fine  brown  eyes  that  expressed 
only  kindness  and  simplicity,  a  brown  moustache  and 
beard  which  hid  the  weakness  of  his  mouth  and  chin, 
and  a  disposition  so  sensitive  that  if  anyone  contra- 
dicted him  in  the  daytime  he  was  apt  to  lie  awake 
and  think  of  it  all  night. 

That  he  had  remained  a  bachelor  so  long  was  due 
probably  to  the  fact  that  he  possessed  also  a  very 
energetic  and  devoted  sister,  who  lived  with  him,  and 
directed  him  both  in  house  and  parish,  guarding  him 


MR.  CANTRILL  AT  ST.  NEVYNS      291 

carefully  from  designing  young  females.  She  would 
certainly  have  called  Sophy  a  designing  young  fe- 
male, and  guarded  her  brother  from  her  attractions, 
save  for  the  fact  that  her  own  attention  was  now  ex- 
clusively occupied  elsewhere. 

In  other  words  a  great  and  astounding  piece  of 
good  fortune  had  befallen  Mr.  Cantrill's  sister,  in 
her  own  estimation,  and  that  of  all  her  acquaint- 
ance. 

Her  brother's  bishop,  making  a  tour  of  his  dio- 
cese spent  a  couple  of  nights  with  the  well-to-do  vicar 
of  Gwenfrood,  and  was  struck  by  Miss  Cantrill's 
marvellous  powers  of  administration,  no  less  than 
by  the  beauty  of  her  brown  eyes,  and  the  cheerful- 
ness of  her  smile. 

The  bishop  was  elderly,  and  the  bishop  was  failing 
in  strength.  Miss  Cantrill  was  middle-aged,  and  her 
strength  was  super-abundant. 

He  invited  the  brother  and  sister  to  pay  a  return 
visit  to  his  episcopal  residence.  Here  he  had  a  fur- 
ther opportunity  of  discovering  good  qualities  in  the 
lady  whose  capabilities  and  energy  had  attracted  him 
so  greatly  at  first  sight. 

At  a  local  football  match  a  little  boy,  climbing  an 
iron  stack  of  forbidden  hurdles,  managed  to  displace 
them,  and  fell  with  them  to  the  ground.  When  he 
was  extricated,  it  was  discovered  that  he  had  broken 
his  leg.  It  was  Miss  Cantrill  who  cut  off  his  stock- 
ing and  boot,  rendered  first  aid  to  the  injured  limb, 
and  soothed  the  little  sufferer.  The  deftness,  and 


292  THE  TYRANT 

above  all,  the  tenderness  that  she  displayed,  dispelled 
the  bishop's  last  doubt.  He  proposed  to  Miss  Can- 
trill  that  evening. 

He  was  nearly  seventy,  but  he  was  a  bishop,  and 
a  worthy  one.  She  revered  him,  and  she  had  never 
had  an  offer  of  marriage  in  her  life.  Miss  Cantrill 
accepted  him  gratefully,  and  wondered  what  would 
become  of  her  brother. 

He  left  the  curate  in  charge  of  his  parish,  which 
was  a  large  one ;  and  went  abroad  for  a  change,  feel- 
ing the  parsonage  too  melancholy  without  his  sister's 
presence.  On  his  return  he  found  it  more  melan- 
choly still.  To  cheer  himself,  he  made  frequent  ex- 
peditions into  the  surrounding  country  to  indulge  his 
solitary  hobby  of  sketching  tombs  and  rubbing 
brasses.  He  had  welcomed  the  opportunity  of  vis- 
iting Llanon. 

His  sister  had  been  married  just  six  weeks  when  he 
fell  in  love  with  Sophy  Kemys.  Perhaps  he  in- 
stinctively recognised  in  her  some  of  the  sustaining 
qualities  which  characterized  the  bishop's  wife. 

Sophy  —  in  the  absence  of  her  elder  sister  —  en- 
joyed taking  the  lead.  She  was  quick  and  decided, 
and  withal  she  was  young  and  pretty.  Also  her 
manner  had  that  touch  of  deference  which  was  to  be 
expected  towards  one  so  many  years  her  senior. 

She  was  excessively  tired  of  playing  second  fiddle, 
and  it  elated  her  to  perceive  that  her  word  was  law 
to  Mr.  Cantrill. 

Sophy  became  very  much  interested  in  rubbing  the 


MR.  CANTRILL  AT  ST.  NEVYNS      293 

old  brasses  in  the  church  of  St.  Nevyn.  He  showed 
her  that  one  represented  a  miner  of  the  I5th  cen- 
tury with  his  equipment,  and  another  a  forester  of 
the  same  period,  and  she  was  charmed.  She  learnt 
for  the  first  time  that  there  was  much  to  admire  in 
the  mural  frescoes  she  had  faced  with  perfect  indif- 
ference every  Sunday  for  the  past  fourteen  years  of 
her  life.  And  she  acquired,  if  possible,  an  even 
greater  value  in  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Cantrill,  because  she 
was  the  direct  descendant  of  the  old  Emmanuel 
Kemys  whose  dust  lay  beneath  one  of  the  finest  four- 
teenth century  altar-tombs  he  had  ever  had  the  good 
fortune  to  behold. 

Cynthia  Eyewater  and  her  sister  Perina  watched 
his  broad  figure,  surmounted  by  his  wide  clerical  hat 
—  bending  towards  his  little  companion  as  he  crossed 
the  churchyard  by  her  side,  carrying  his  sketching 
materials. 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  said  no  word,  and 
each  read  the  thought  in  the  other's  heart.  Even 
that  little  chit  has  a  lover  now.  For  they  had  reached 
the  age  when  it  appeared  to  them,  too,  that 

"  Babes  make  love  and  children  wed" 

They  were  not  jealous  of  Annie.  Whatever  their 
mother  might  say  or  think,  Cynthia  and  Perina  re- 
joiced over  the  romance  of  her  sudden  engagement 
to  Lord  Yorath.  Her  beauty  had  this  effect  upon 


294  THE  TYRANT 

them,  that  they  were  glad  all  the  world  should  have 
the  chance  of  recognising  it.  They  did  not  grudge 
her  happiness  to  Annie.  But  it  is  to  be  feared  that 
they  grudged  Mr.  Cantrill  to  Sophy  very  much  in- 
deed. 

They  said  to  each  other  almost  reproachfully  that 
it  was  a  wonder  some  more  suitable  person  had  not 
taken  the  trouble  to  cut  out  this  little  minx  who  was 
still  in  her  teens,  and  who  would  certainly  make  the 
least  desirable  wife  in  the  world  for  a  nervous  mid- 
dle-aged, well-to-do  clergyman. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

CYNTHIA   AND    PERINA    GROWN    UP 

THE  rumour  that  old  Mrs.  Eyewater  had  had  a 
stroke  had  scarcely  spread  through  the  village  of 
Llanon,  before  it  was  followed  by  the  news  of  her 
death. 

Everyone  was  shocked  and  sympathetic,  as  the 
members  of  a  small  community  generally  are  when 
death  appears  suddenly  in  their  midst. 

It  was  scarcely  remembered  for  the  time  being, 
that  the  old  lady  had  been  rather  disliked  than  other- 
wise in  Llanon;  the  villagers  forgot  to  smile  when 
they  mentioned  the  "  young  ladies." 

The  most  sincere  commiseration  for  them  both  was 
expressed  and  felt. 

It  was  the  flowery  season,  between  late  spring  and 
early  summer;  and  the  old  crooked,  stone-tiled  roof 
of  the  Red  House  was  literally  embowered  in  blos- 
som. The  garden  slope,  with  its  view  of  the  val- 
ley and  the  distant  blue  hills,  which  lay  at  the  back 
of  the  little  dwelling,  was  buried  in  bloom. 

The  maiden  sisters  had  worked  there  long  and 
silently  during  autumn  and  winter.  Now  was  the  re- 
ward of  their  labours. 

And  in  an  upper  chamber  with  the  window  open 
295, 


296  THE  TYRANT 

towards  the  village  street,  which  the  dead  woman 
had  loved  to  look  upon  so  much  more  than  she  had 
loved  the  misty  beautiful  view  of  the  hills  at  the 
back  —  lay  the  old  mother. 

The  village  children,  whom  the  "  young  ladies  " 
taught  in  Sunday  School,  came  silently  to  the  door, 
which  stood  open,  and  thrust  bunches  of  cowslips  and 
uneven  wreaths  of  wild  violets  and  ferns  into  the 
hands  of  the  little  sobbing  maid-servant,  who  had 
hated  her  mistress  living,  and  now  cried  the  more 
bitterly  because  she  was  dead,  and  because,  being 
young,  she  was  easily  affected  by  the  grief  of  others. 

The  day  after  their  mother's  death,  Cynthia  and 
Perina  sent  a  message  to  Mrs.  Kemys,  and  she  came 
instantly  to  the  darkened  house  which  had  been  her 
early  home,  and  to  which  she  had  been  summoned 
once  before,  on  just  such  a  perfect  summer  day  — 
to  her  father's  death-bed. 

She  expected  to  find  the  sisters  helpless,  overcome, 
perhaps  hysterical,  for  old  Mrs.  Eyewater  had 
treated  them  almost  as  children  to  the  very  end. 
But  she  found  them  calm,  self-possessed  and  even 
digmfied  in  their  grief;  it  was  as  though  they  had 
suddenly  and  with  great  relief,  permitted  themselves 
to  grow  up,  since  the  unnatural  compulsion  to  re- 
main young  had  been  removed.  Annette  wondered 
if  after  all,  the  comedy  the  village  had  enjoyed  so 
long  had  not  been  a  very  patiently  and  silently  borne 
martyrdom  to  two  of  the  actors  concerned  in  it. 

They  spoke  in  whispers,  and  moved  noiselessly, 


CYNTHIA  AND  PERINA  GROWN  UP    297 

as  people  do  when  there  is  death  in  the  house ;  but  it 
was  as  though  they  had  not  been  unprepared. 

"  Dear  Mamma  was  much,  much  older  than  any- 
body guessed,"  whispered  Cynthia.  "  She  was  so 
active  —  so  interested  in  everything.  She  kept  her 
youth  to  the  last." 

"  Will  you  come  upstairs?"  said  Perina,  in  the 
same  hushed  tones.  "  She  was  fond  of  you.  I 
think  she  would  have  wished  you  to  come." 

Cynthia  appeared  a  little  uneasy,  but  the  younger 
and  more  decided  sister  prevailed. 

"  Are  you  sure  —  dear  Mamma  would  have 
wished  —  of  course  there  is  a  great  change  — " 
faltered  Cynthia. 

'  Yes,  she  would  have  wished  it.  If  she  could 
have  known  how  exquisite  she  would  look,"  said 
Perina,  firmly. 

Annette,  in  the  midst  of  her  sympathy,  wondered 
that  even  the  simplicity  of  the  middle-aged  daughters 
could  have  found  old  Mrs.  Eyewater  exquisite.  But 
when  she  reached  that  silent  bower  under  the  steep 
roof  of  her  old  home,  she  wondered  no  longer. 

There  lay  among  the  white  coverings  the  digni- 
fied sleeping  face  of  an  old,  old  woman;  with  snow- 
white  hair  parted  above  a  brow  from  which  death 
had  smoothed  the  wrinkles  and  left  only  the  peace; 
—  the  meekness  of  one  who  had  resigned  pretence 
for  ever. 

"  She  was  past  eighty  —  poor  Mamma  —  but  she 
wished  nobody  to  know  it,"  whispered  Perina,  re- 


298  THE  TYRANT 

placing  tenderly  the  lawn  handkerchief  which  cov- 
ered the  face  that  was  almost  the  face  of  a  stranger 
to  Annette.  She  could  not  bear  to  recall,  in  that 
majestic  presence,  the  simpering,  chattering,  painted, 
auburn-wigged  creature  which  Mrs.  Eyewater  had 
chosen  to  show  to  the  world  as  her  true  self. 

"  Do  you  think  we  need  put  the  date  of  her  birth 
—  in  the  announcement  —  or  on  her  —  on  her 
tomb  ?  "  Cynthia  whispered. 

They  turned  anxious  eyes  on  Mrs.  Kemys. 

"  We  do  not  mind  your  knowing,  dear  Mrs. 
Kemys,  but  we  do  not  wish  everybody  to  know." 

"  No,  no;  I  do  not  think  you  need.  The  date  of 
her  death  would  be  quite,  quite  sufficient,"  said  An- 
nette, with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

As  she  took  the  short  cut  across  the  churchyard 
to  the  Manor  House  on  her  way  home,  the  sound  of 
the  wheelwright's  hammering  went  echoing  up  the 
valley,  and  she  knew  that  he  was  making  old  Mrs. 
Eyewater's  coffin;  and  again  she  realised  poignantly 
the  mingling  of  homely  commonplace  and  everlast- 
ing tragedy  which  is  the  sum  of  human  life. 

Mr.  Turley  and  Dr.  Harries  were  the  executors 
appointed  by  the  deceased,  and  the  former  showed 
a  great  deal  of  kindness  to  the  forlorn  ladies  in  the 
Red  House,  who  were  perfectly  ignorant  of  business, 
but  most  anxious  to  learn  anything  he  chose  to  teach 
them. 

He  found  they  had  never  even  learned  how  to 


CYNTHIA  AND  PERINA  GROWN  UP    299 

draw  a  cheque,  and  that  they  knew  nothing  of  their 
mother's  affairs. 

"  Poor  Mamma  liked  to  keep  everything  entirely 
to  herself,"  they  explained.  "  We  did  not  even 
know  what  her  income  was.  We  knew  she  was 
badly  off,  but  we  always  thought  she  was  too  proud, 
poor  Mamma  —  to  let  anyone  know  how  poor  she 
really  was.  We  are  prepared  to  hear  we  may  have 
to  live  in  a  different  style  —  to  keep  a  smaller  estab- 
lishment," they  said  humbly. 

Mr.  Turley  thought  it  would  have  been  difficult 
to  keep  a  much  smaller  establishment.  There  was 
the  usual  old  servant,  who  had  acted  as  Mrs.  Bye- 
water's  maid;  and  the  little  local  girl-of-all-work. 

"  We  know  dear  Mamma  —  as  an  officer's  widow, 
had  a  pension  which  dies  with  her,"  they  said,  sadly. 

"  My  dear  young  ladies,"  said  Mr.  Turley  (from 
force  of  habit),  "  I  am  happy  to  tell  you  —  I  am 
very  happy  to  tell  you,  that  your  mother  insured  her 
life  for  your  benefit  many  years  ago.  No  doubt  the 
yearly  payment  of  the  premium  crippled  her  expendi- 
ture, and  she  did  not  care  to  let  you  know  of  the 
sacrifice  she  was  making  for  you.  You  will  be  con- 
siderably better  off  than  during  her  life-time.  She 
was  insured  for  no  less  a  sum  than  ten  thousand 
pounds.  You  will  have  therefore  five  thousand 
apiece  in  addition  to  your  pensions,  and  the  income 
which  she  has  devoted  to  the  payment  of  the 
premium." 

Mr.  Turley  did  not  know  why  the  two  sisters 


300  THE  TYRANT 

looked  at  each  other  as  though  conscience-stricken; 
but  he  respected  the  emotion  that  overcame  them, 
and  busied  himself  with  his  papers  until  they  had  re- 
covered themselves  sufficiently  to  attend  to  him. 

When  he  had  gone,  the  gentle  Cynthia  laid  her 
head  upon  the  table  and  wept. 

"  Oh,  Perry,  Perry,  I  have  thought  poor  Mamma 
was  neglectful  of  our  interests,  that  it  was  cruel  of 
her  to  leave  Cheltenham  when  my  father  died,  and 
to  bury  us  here  in  the  country." 

"  I  never  could  understand  it,  never,"  said  Perina, 
in  choking  tones.  "  She  who  loved  society  and  — 
and  gossip  and  intercourse  with  her  neighbours,  and 
never  cared  for  country  life;  but  I  see  now,  she  could 
not  afford  to  live  in  Cheltenham  —  as  we  had  been 
living  — " 

"  She  must  have  given  up  all  hopes  of  our  marry- 
ing, and  determined  to  provide  for  us  in  this  way  in- 
stead," sobbed  Cynthia. 

Perina  knelt  beside  her  sister  and  put  a  protecting 
arm  about  the  bowed  and  rounded  shoulders. 

"  Cynthia,  listen.  We  have  never  really  liked  this 
place.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  garden, —  and  the 
choir  —  I  don't  know  how  we  could  have  stood  it. 
I  see  now  why  Mamma  only  rented  this  house  by  the 
year,  and  would  not  have  a  lease.  She  never  ex- 
pected nor  wished  us  to  stay  after  she  died.  She  has 
given  us  the  means  to  go  where  we  like  —  back  to 
Cheltenham  —  anywhere." 


CYNTHIA  AND  PERINA  GROWN  UP    301 

"  Never  back  to  Cheltenham.  We  were  still  able 
to  enjoy  the  dances  and  the  gaieties  —  when  we  left. 
What  could  we  do  there  now  —  after  twenty  years? 
It  would  be  full  of  ghosts.  And  poor  Papa  forgot- 
ten who  was  so  much  respected  — " 

"  You  are  right.  It  would  be  too  sad,"  said 
Perina,  after  a  moment's  pause,  during  which  her 
fancy  had  wandered  backwards  to  the  scene  of  past 
triumphs,  and  blighted  hopes.  "  But  we  will  not 
stay  here,  Cynthia.  We  are  no  longer  young  but  we 
are  not  old.  We  are  active  and  able  to  enjoy  what- 
ever life  may  have  in  store  for  us  still.  Poor 
Mamma  has  given  us  the  means;  we  will  go  abroad 

—  we  will  travel." 

"  Oh  Perry !  would  it  be  possible  ?  It  has  been  the 
dream  of  my  life,"  Cynthia  said,  raising  her  face 
with  the  tears  yet  wet  upon  her  pale  eyelashes. 

"  It  would  be  possible.  It  is  even  the  proper 
thing  to  do,  after  such  a  bereavement  as  ours.  We 
will  give  up  the  Red  House;  store  such  things  as  we 
could  not  bear  to  part  with,  and  sell  the  rest.  And 
we  will  go  first  to  London  and  get  proper  mourning, 
and  then  we  will  go  abroad.  It  will  be  the  best  and 
happiest  thing  for  us." 

"  Oh  Perry,  I  might  look  forward  to  it,  even  now 

—  if  only  I  had  not  to  reproach  myself  for  never 
understanding  what  poor  Mamma's  devotion  to  us 
must  have  been  ~" 

"  How  could  we  guess?    She  told  us  nothing.     It 


302  THE  TYRANT 

Is  something  that  we  understand  now,  and  are  grate- 
ful. And  perhaps  she  knows,"  said  Perina,  in  sub- 
dued tones. 

The  sun  was  high  and  the  heat  great.  An- 
nette left  the  bench  beneath  the  cedar  where  Sophy 
chattered  over  her  work  and  sauntered  away,  carry- 
ing a  book  in  her  hand. 

She  had  never  acquired  the  habit  of  reading,  or 
had  never  had  time  to  indulge  this  taste  if  she  pos- 
sessed it ;  but  she  often  took  a  book  now  as  an  excuse 
for  seeking  solitude. 

It  seemed  to  those  who  observed  her  that  she  grew 
languid  and  listless.  With  the  necessity  for  exertion 
the  power  of  exerting  herself  seemed  to  be  vanishing; 
also  she  became  frailer  and  more  delicate  in  appear- 
ance. 

Her  days  and  nights  were  haunted  by  the  insistent 
ghost  of  self-reproach;  a  spirit  not  always  to  be  laid 
even  by  the  vision  of  the  freedom  and  happiness  her 
children  had  gained  in  return  for  the  sacrifice  of  her 
peace  of  mind. 

She  had  truly  said  to  Sharman  that  her  little  shred 
of  consolation  was  the  thought  that  in  no  way  had  her 
recent  doings  brought  her  any  personal  benefit. 
Rigidly  she  clung  to  her  shabby  gowns,  her  meagre 
fare;  and  woman-like,  endeavoured  passionately  to 
salve  her  conscience  by  starving  and  denying  herself, 
whilst  liberally  pouring  forth  the  benefits  she  re- 
garded as  stolen  benefits,  upon  those  she  loved. 


CYNTHIA  AND  PERINA  GROWN  UP    303 

She  had  abandoned,  in  the  despair  of  bewilder- 
ment, all  hope  of  convincing  herself  by  argument  of 
the  right  or  wrong  of  the  course  she  was  pursuing. 
But  she  believed  that  from  the  moment  she  had  ac- 
cepted the  first  advance  of  money  from  Mr.  Turley, 
she  had  burnt  her  boats;  and  this  very  conviction 
brought  the  relief  which  such  a  conviction  generally 
brings  to  a  weak  or  undecided  nature. 

But  having  thus  committed  herself  to  a  course  she 
deplored, —  yet  could  not  altogether  regret, —  she 
made  what  amends  she  could  within  the  bounds  of 
its  pursuit;  and  believing  that  she  robbed  Richard, 
applied  the  proceeds  of  the  theft  towards  the  re- 
moval of  many  reproaches  from  his  name. 

She  urged  forward  the  repairs  of  the  neglected 
cottages  with  an  energy  almost  feverish ;  and  righted 
a  dozen  petty  wrongs  which  had  rankled  in  the  bos- 
oms of  her  humbler  neighbours  for  years.  A  dis- 
puted right  of  way  —  a  water  grievance  —  a  bitter 
complaint  of  encroachment  on  ancient  common  rights 
—  she  was  astounded  by  the  ease  with  which  these 
and  similar  troubles  were  smoothed  from  the  path  of 
the  owners  of  Nantgwilt  present  and  to  come,  by  a 
liberal  pouring  forth  of  ready  money. 

Old  Pugh,  in  spite  of  his  misgivings,  admired  his 
mistress  for  the  first  time. 

"  She's  got  the  old  Colonel's  spirit  after  all,"  he 
said  to  Pryse.  "  If  Squire  never  came  back  at  all, 
and  left  her  to  manage  the  place,  she'd  be  served 
twice  as  well  as  ever  he  was.  A  man  as  is  hated  like 


3o4  THE  TYRANT 

the  Squire's  hated,  is  never  well  served,  let  him  bully 
and  screw  as  he  will." 

"  There's  a  day  of  reckoning  to  come,"  said  Pryse, 
shaking  his  head.  "  We'll  have  to  pay  before  win- 
ter sets  in  for  the  peace  and  quiet  of  this  here  summer. 
The  household  books  is  higher  at  this  minute,  with 
all  Miss  Sophy  is  pleased  to  order,  than  when  the  lot 
of  them  was  at  home.  And  all  in  case  Mr.  Cantrill 
might  drop  in.  She  can't  blind  me.  Not  that  I'm 
blaming  her.  Eating  and  drinking  is  the  last  thing 
I'd  care  to  economize  over.  We  must  eat  to  live  as 
everyone  knows." 

"  It's  something  to  be  able  to  face  the  folk  in  the 
Glyn,"  said  Pugh.  "  I  don't  say  they're  all  con- 
tented. Some  people  that  has  enjoyed  a  grievance 
for  twenty  years  can't  hardly  bear  to  part  with  it. 
But  there's  one  or  two  —  I  used  to  be  ashamed  to 
tell  them  as  I  couldn't  get  the  Squire  to  do  nothing. 
And  after  all,  my  conscience  is  clear,  if  they  do  bless 
her  name,"  he  argued,  "  for  the  Squire  wrote  me  to 
take  my  orders  from  her.  So  'tis  she  that  must  bear 
the  brunt  when  he  comes  home.  But  the  work  will 
be  done  by  then  at  this  rate,  and  it  can't  well  be  un- 
done, since  it's  been  paid  for  —  storm  as  he  will." 

"  There'll  be  no  one  but  her  to  storm  at,  with  all 
this  scattering  of  the  family,"  said  Pryse.  "  I  some- 
times ask  myself  whether  I'm  awake  or  asleep,  when 
I  sees  her  moving  like  a  ghost  through  the  empty 
rooms.  Even  Sharman  gone,  as  one  did  think  was  a 
fixture;  and  no  one  to  keep  the  missus  company  but 


CYNTHIA  AND  PERINA  GROWN  UP    305 

Miss  Sophy,  as  is  dancing  after  her  gentleman  all 
day,  and  would  like  to  be  off  with  him  altogether  as 
anyone  can  see.  No  wonder  madam  frets,  left  all 
to  herself." 

But  it  was  not  because  she  was  left  to  herself  that 
Mrs.  Kemys  fretted. 

On  the  contrary,  she  found  something  of  her  lost 
serenity  restored  when  she  could  steal  away  thus  to 
commune  with  herself  in  silence.  For  solitude,  like 
nature,  rewards  her  worshippers  with  an  ever  fuller 
and  deeper  understanding  of  her  charms  and  of  her 
mysteries. 

Annette  took  her  way  slowly  through  the  garden, 
and  let  herself  out  by  the  little  iron  gate  in  the  fence, 
leading  into  the  meadows. 

Her  gown  swished  through  the  tall  bending 
grasses  that  almost  hid  the  narrow  path;  grasses  al- 
ready flowering,  among  branching  ox-eyed  daisies, 
and  buttercups  of  the  golden  hearts. 

Little  red  and  blue  butterflies  fluttered  across  her 
way,  and  high  above  her  head  sounded  the  lark's 
song  though  the  singer  was  invisible. 

The  larch  woods  looked  inviting,  but  they  sloped 
away  down  to  the  valley,  and  she  thought  of  the  re- 
turn climb;  choosing  to  skirt  the  palings  of  the  gar- 
den and  shrubberies,  until  she  reached  an  outlying 
orchard  hidden  by  a  curve  of  the  hill. 

The  orchard  was  a  rough  one,  dipping  into  unex- 
pected hollows  and  little  dells,  where  in  spring  the 
finest  primroses  and  sweetest  white  violets  lurked, 


306  THE  TYRANT 

and  where  now  the  bluebells  were  scattered  among 
the  springing  fronds  of  bracken. 

She  chose  a  resting-place  sheltered  by  a  grove  of 
stunted  oak  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  by  a  grass 
hillock,  sparsely  crowned  with  gnarled  apple-trees, 
which  stood  out  boldly,  bearing  their  alien  branches 
of  green  mistletoe  against  the  dazzling  blue  of  the 
summer  sky. 

Below  her  blazed  a  clump  of  golden  gorse,  and  at 
her  back  rose  a  mountain  ash.  She  leant  against  its 
smooth  trunk,  and  gazed  at  the  distant  landscape 
shrouded  in  haze;  the  sunlight  cast  emerald  lights 
upon  her  white  face,  through  the  great  leaves  of  a 
tall  budding  foxglove,  and  through  a  giant  bush  of 
wild  fern  fanned  by  the  warm  breeze. 

From  the  shady  depths  of  the  oak  grove  sounded 
cheerful  twittering.  A  little  brown  bird  stretched 
his  throat  in  ecstatic  trill  from  a  perch  on  a  tall  pear- 
tree,  while  his  brothers  soared  into  the  boundless 
blue  of  space. 

What  a  quiet  world  of  remoteness,  and  calm  and 
beauty.  If  only  the  mind  could  be  attuned  to  its 
sleepy  harmony. 

Presently  she  hardly  knew  whether  her  dreams 
were  waking  ones,  or  whether  she  had  lost  herself  in 
slumber. 

She  had  been  thinking  of  the  Red  House,  now 
empty,  and  therefore  seeming  much  more  like  her 
old  home  than  when  the  Eyewaters  had  transmogri- 
fied its  sacred  interior  by  their  belongings. 


CYNTHIA  AND  PERINA  GROWN  UP    307 

The  house,  like  most  of  the  dwellings  in  Llanon, 
belonged  to  the  lord  of  the  manor  of  Nantgwilt. 

Annette  had  gone  through  it  that  morning  with 
old  Pugh,  and  said  that  she  would  take  no  steps 
towards  finding  a  new  tenant  until  the  Squire's  re- 
turn. The  empty  rooms  haunted  her  imagination 
scr  that  it  was  no  wonder  that  she  should  dream  of 
them  still,  waking  or  sleeping. 

She  thought  of  herself  standing  in  the  window 
recess  of  the  little  sitting-room,  looking  into  the  gar- 
den at  the  brilliant  scarlet  of  the  rhododendron  now 
in  flower  there.  The  scarlet  took  form,  and  she 
realised  her  father  in  full  uniform,  as  she  had  once 
seen  him  dressed  for  a  levee.  He  held  out  his  arms 
to  her,  and  said,  with  that  well-remembered  tender 
intonation  so  familiar  to  her,  "  It's  time  to  come 
home,  Annette  ";  and  the  presentment  was  so  vivid 
that  she  started  and  stumbled  to  her  feet  with  a  cry. 

Her  heart  was  beating  rapidly,  and  though  she 
tried  to  laugh  as  at  a  nightmare,  she  felt  in  reality  as 
though  she  had  had  a  warning  vision,  as  incomplete 
and  puzzling  as  such  visions  usually  are. 

She  looked  at  her  watch,  and  found  she  had  been 
resting  for  an  hour.  Then  she  must  have  slept.  A 
shrill  voice  was  calling  her,  and  she  forgot  her  dream 
in  her  haste  to  get  away  from  her  secret  refuge. 

She  was  nearing  the  gate  in  the  iron  fence,  when 
she  saw  Sophy  running  in  the  garden. 

"  Mr.  Cantrill  is  in  the  drawing-room,  Mamma. 
He  asked  for  you,  and  Pugh  said  you  were  at  home, 


3o8  THE  TYRANT 

thinking  you  were  in  the  garden.  He  told  Pryse  he 
wished  to  see  you  very  particularly,"  cried  Sophy, 
"  so  I  came  to  look  for  you  instead  of  going  to  en- 
tertain him  myself.  But  I  hunted  everywhere  and 
could  not  find  you," 

Sophy's  tones  were  reproachful,  and  Mrs.  Kemys 
felt  almost  guilty  when  she  remembered  the  elabo- 
rate pains  she  had  taken  to  hide  herself. 

"  I  am  coming  at  once,  my  dear,"  she  said.  Then 
she  became  aware  that  Sophy  was  unusually  flushed 
and  excited;  and  looking  at  her  in  surprise  observed 
the  conscious,  almost  the  triumphant  expression  of 
her  face. 

"  Sophy !  "  she  cried. 

But  Sophy  turned  and  fled. 

Mrs.  Kemys  hurried  into  the  drawing-room,  where 
she  found  Mr.  Cantrill  bending  over  the  carving  of 
the  pillars  which  supported  the  mantel-board,  with 
curious  interest.  He  appeared  to  recollect  himself 
and  his  errand  with  a  start,  as  he  came  forward  to 
greet  his  hostess. 

After  a  few  moments  of  intense  embarrassment, 
during  which  they  both  talked  almost  passionately 
of  the  weather,  he  suddenly  calmed;  and  in  his  most 
old-fashioned  manner  asked  Annette's  permission  to 
marry  her  daughter. 

He  anticipated  her  objection  to  his  age  before  she 
had  time  to  make  any  answer  to  his  opening  speech, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  he  had  rehearsed  this  con- 
versation to  himself  in  bed  for  many  nights,  and  felt 


CYNTHIA  AND  PERINA  GROWN  UP    309 

acutely  that  he  must  not  give  her  the  chance  to  make 
any  remark  for  which  he  had  not  prepared  a  crush- 
ing or  convincing  reply. 

He  pointed  out  that  although  he  was  most  un- 
doubtedly twenty  years  older  than  Sophy,  there  was 
a  much  greater  discrepancy  of  age  between  his  sister 
and  her  bishop. 

'  Yet  I  defy  you  to  show  me  a  happier  couple," 
said  Mr.  Cantrill,  simply.  "They  are  never  con- 
tented out  of  each  other's  sight.  Of  course  I  am  not 
a  bishop.  But  my  position  is  a  good  one.  That  is 
to  say  I  have  a  good  living,  and  a  private  fortune  of 
my  own,  and  I  am  prepared  to  settle  everything  I 
have  in  the  world  upon  her." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Cantrill,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  at 
last  succeeding  in  making  herself  heard,  "  you  are 
going  too  fast.  We  have  not  yet  arrived — "  she 
smiled  in  spite  of  herself  — "  at  Sophy's  marriage- 
settlements.  You  must  recollect  that  this  is  the  first 
I  have  heard  of  your  affection  for  my  daughter,  and 
that  I  look  upon  Sophy  as  a  child." 

"  I  know  you  do,  I  know  it.  She  has  told  me  so. 
I  think  it  a  mistake,  if  you  will  permit  me  to  say  so. 
She  tells  me  she  will  be  eighteen  this  month." 

Mrs.  Kemys  could  not  deny  the  fact. 

"  I  believe  you  were  not  much  older  when  you  be- 
came the  mother  of  your  son  — "  he  said,  timidly, 
and  altogether  unaware  that  it  was  Sophy  who  had 
artlessly  supplied  him  with  this  argument. 

Again  Mrs.  Kemys  had  no  contradiction  to  offer. 


3io  THE  TYRANT 

"  Parents  are  often  inclined  to  —  to  forget  their 
children  grow  up,"  he  said  with  his  gentle  smile. 
"  I  assure  you  if  you  could  hear  your  daughter  talk 
to  me  —  knowing  as  she  does  that  I  regard  her  as  a 
woman  —  you  would  be  very  much  surprised." 

"  I  think  it  not  unlikely,"  said  Annette,  and  a  faint 
smile  played  about  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 
"  Have  you  —  spoken  to  her?  But  of  course  — " 

"  I  have  not  put  the  actual  question,  at  least,  not 
in  so  many  words,"  he  stammered.  "  It  seemed 
right  —  taking  her  youth  into  consideration,  to 
await  your  permission  for  that.  But  I  think  I  may 
say,  without  presumption,  that  we  understand  each 
other." 

Then  he  fortunately  forgot  the  remainder  of  his 
preconcerted  remarks,  and  spoke  with  natural  emo- 
tion. 

"  If  you  will  give  me  your  child,  Mrs.  Kemys,  I 
will  do  my  utmost,  my  very  utmost,  to  make  her 
happy.  I  am  a  very  lonely  man,  now  that  my  sister 
is  married.  I  know  my  age  is  a  drawback,  but  on 
the  other  hand  it  would  make  me  perhaps  more  con- 
siderate and  indulgent  than  a  younger  man;  who 
might  be  more  suitable,  but  could  not  be  more  de- 
voted." 

Mrs.  Kemys  liked  him  a  great  deal  better  when 
his  unnatural  pomposity  melted  into  his  natural  sim- 
plicity. 

She  could  not,  she  said,  consent  to  a  definite  en- 
gagement until  Sophy's  father  returned,  or  while 


CYNTHIA  AND  PERINA  GROWN  UP    311 

Sophy  was  quite  so  young;  but  of  course,  if  they 
both  remained  of  the  same  mind  —  if  Sophy  were 
as  determined  as  he  appeared  to  be  —  why  then, — 
In  short  Annette  had  really  no  valid  objections  to 
urge  beyond  those  he  had  himself  raised  and  com- 
bated so  valiantly.  So  that  Mr.  Cantrill  found  him- 
self presently  quite  at  his  ease,  grateful  for  her 
sympathy,  and  given  to  understand  that  he  would 
be  a  welcome  visitor  even  if  he  could  not  yet  be  an 
acknowledged  suitor. 

He  departed  in  a  very  soothed  and  happy  frame 
of  mind. 

But  Sophy  happened  to  meet  him  at  the  Rectory 
Gate,  and  having  skilfully  extracted  the  gist  of  her 
mother's  conversation  with  him,  she  came  home  filled 
with  indignant  wrath. 

"Annie  may  be  engaged,  and  why  not  I?  She 
was  only  nineteen  last  week,  and  I  shall  be  eighteen 
this  week.  Why  must  we  wait  until  Papa  comes 
back?" 

"  My  dear  Sophy,  Annie  is  waiting  until  Papa 
comes  back." 

"  It  is  all  very  well  to  say  that,  Mamma,  but  you 
know  it  is  no  such  thing.  Isn't  she  staying  with  his 
mother?  Hasn't  he  given  her  a  ring?  Doesn't 
everybody  know  it's  settled  ?  Would  Annie  give  him 
up  for  anything  Papa  or  anyone  said?  But  if  Mr. 
Cantrill  isn't  even  to  be  allowed  to  ask  me  properly 
until  you  give  him  leave,  what  can  I  say  when  Papa 
comes  home  and  upsets  everything,  as  you  know  he 


3i2  THE  TYRANT 

will  sooner  or  later,  and  tells  Mr.  Cantrill  to  his 
face  that  if  there  is  one  thing  he  hates  more  than  a 
doctor  it  is  a  parson?  How  can  I  stand  up  to  Papa, 
or  be  true  to  him,  or  anything  else  if  I  am  not  even 
to  be  given  the  chance  of  accepting  him?"  cried 
Sophy,  with  scarlet  cheeks  and  flaming  eyes. 

"  Sophy,  dear  child,  I  don't  like  you  to  behave  like 
this.  I  have  never  seen  you  in  a  passion  before," 
said  Mrs.  Kemys,  really  surprised.  "  I  don't  think 
it  is  very  nice  or  womanly  —  for  a  little  girl  of  your 
age." 

"  I  am  not  a  little  girl,"  said  Sophy,  stamping. 
"  Did  you  call  Annie  a  little  girl  at  my  age?  Just 
because  I  am  a  year  younger  than  Annie  and  not  so 
pretty,  you  and  Granny  have  always  treated  me  as 
a  little  girl  who  didn't  count.  It's  not  that  I'm 
jealous  of  Annie.  I'm  not,  you  know  I'm  not.  But 
I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  be  given  my  chance  too," 
said  Sophy,  crying.  "  Do  you  want  me  to  be  an  old 
maid  like  Cynthia  and  Perina  ?  "  she  sobbed. 

Presently,  however,  she  allowed  herself  to  be 
taken  into  her  mother's  arms,  and  soothed  and  kissed 
and  forgiven.  Sophy  had  none  of  Annie's  caress- 
ing ways,  but  she  was  ashamed  of  her  outbreak,  and 
found  comfort  in  whispering  amidst  her  final  sobs 
that  she  really  did  love  Mr.  Cantrill  in  spite  of  his 
being  so  much  older. 

"  Or  perhaps  because  — "  she  said  ingenuously, 
"  for  I  never  could  take  much  interest  in  young  men 
like  Jack  Meredydd,  who  have  nothing  to  say  to  one, 


CYNTHIA  AND  PERINA  GROWN  UP    313; 

and  don't  care  a  bit  what  one's  thinking  about  or 
how  one  looks.  I  have  always  thought  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  marry  an  older  man;  though  at  first  I 
thought  I  couldn't  love  a  man  with  a  beard,  and 
especially  when  I  found  out  that  his  name  was  Am- 
brose. But  if  you  knew  how  much  I  think  of  him 
now !  And  he's  quite  well  off,  if  that's  what  you're 
thinking  about,  Mamma,  though  his  sister  the 
Bishop's  wife  would  be  sure  to  see  he  got  on  anyhow, 
I  suppose,"  said  Sophy  with  perfect  calm,  "  even  if 
he's  too  unworldly  to  think  of  it  himself.  And  I 
don't  ask  much,  Mamma;  only  that  you  should  let 
us  be  engaged  conditionally  as  Annie  is.  I'm  sure 
when  you  think  how  Papa  goes  on  about  expense  you 
might  be  thankful  we  have  both  found  husbands  so 
quickly,"  she  ended,  wiping  her  eyes. 

Sophy's  common  sense  was  not  to  be  gainsaid,  and 
Mrs.  Kemys  found  that  Sophy's  grandmother  was 
disposed  to  take  much  the  same  view  as  her  grand- 
child. 

"  It  would  not  be  the  match  we  should  have  de- 
sired for  Annie,  but  for  Sophy  it  will  do  very  well," 
said  the  old  lady,  thus  unconsciously  justifying 
Sophy's  accusations,  as  Annette,  conscience-struck, 
perceived  and  acknowledged  to  herself. 

"  He  Is  a  charming  man;  most  gentle  and  pleasant 
in  manner.  What  signifies  a  few  years'  difference  in 
age?  He  is  all  poetry  and  she  all  prose.  He  will 
wake  from  his  dream  of  love  to  find  he  has  a  most 
excellent  housewife  at  his  elbow  and  she  to  discover 


3i4  THE  TYRANT 

he  is  a  helpless  creature  whom  she  can  rule  with  a 
rod  of  iron.  That  will  just  suit  Miss  Sophy.  They 
will  do  famously,  and  the  Bishop's  wife  will  look 
after  them  both — " 

"  Oh  dear  Granny.  It  is  strange  that  you  should 
say  so  much  that  Sophy  says  herself.  In  some  ways 
she  reminds  me  of  you." 

"  In  a  great  many  ways  she  reminds  me  of  myself, 
and  that  is  why  I  cannot  get  on  with  her.  One  does 
not  like  to  see  one's  self  caricatured.  People  judg- 
ing by  appearances  might  say  the  caricature  was  the 
other  way  about,  but  it  is  not.  I  see  in  her  the  crude 
germ  of  myself.  I  daresay  I  was  just  such  another 
at  Sophy's  age,  and  it  is  very  unpleasant  to  be  re- 
minded of  it.  Well,  well  —  I  wish  both  she  and 
Annie  could  be  married  and  settled  before  Richard 
returns  to  raise  a  thousand  difficulties." 

"  I  should  think  we  might  get  his  answer  to  my 
letter  about  Annie  any  day  now.  I  asked  him  to 
cable  as  definitely  as  possible, —  not  to  consider  ex- 
pense over  such  a  vital  question." 

4  The  more  one  thinks  it  over  the  more  one  feels 
that  even  Richard  will  find  it  hard  to  object  to  such  a 
marriage  as  that." 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  could  —  if  it  were  not  for  his 
annoyance  about  that  unlucky  accident." 

"  Unlucky !  "  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  raising  her  eye- 
brows. 

'Well,  that  most  fortunate  accident,"  said  An- 
nette smiling.  "  However  Annie  declares  Lord 


CYNTHIA  AND  PERINA  GROWN  UP    315 

Yorath  wrote  him  a  letter  that  could  not  fail  to  evoke 
a  favourable  reply.  And  her  own  little  note  to  her 
father  would  have  melted  a  heart  of  stone." 

"  It  will  not  melt  Richard's  heart,"  said  the  old 
lady,  grimly.  "  Mine  will  have  more  effect.  I 
dwelt  on  the  envy  the  marriage  would  arouse  in  the 
bosoms  of  all  the  parents  in  the  county  who  have 
spent  their  time  and  money  in  vain,  trying  to  secure 
such  a  match  for  their  daughters !  " 

"  Dear  Granny,  I  cannot  believe  you  wrote  that!  " 

"  I  may  not  have  put  it  quite  so  crudely,  but  I 
wrote  to  that  effect,"  said  old  Mrs.  Kemys,  but  she 
had  the  grace  to  colour  slightly.  "  We  are  told  to 
speak  unto  a  fool  according  to  his  folly." 

"  Whatever  Richard's  faults  may  be,  he  is  no 
fool,"  said  his  wife,  in  some  displeasure. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  love.  In  these  matters 
he  is  a  fool,  though  he  may  be  clever  enough  in 
others."  Her  tone  changed.  "  If  I  abuse  my 
son  to  you,  Annette,  it  is  partly  for  the  sad  consola- 
tion of  seeing  that,  do  what  he  may  —  you  can  stand 
up  for  him  still." 

A  week  later  came  the  expected  cablegram.  It 
puzzled  everybody  and  pleased  nobody,  for  it  con- 
sisted of  only  two  words  — 

Await  return. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

COURTENAY'S  LONG  VACATION 

"  As  soon  as  Ascot  is  over,"  Annie  wrote,  "  Lady 
Yorath  and  Austen  will  return  to  Artramont,  and  I 
am  coming  home,  mother  dear,  for  I  have  left  you 
alone  too  long." 

She  came  home  on  Midsummer  eve,  and  the 
gloom  and  silence  of  the  Manor  House  seemed  im- 
mediately dispelled.  She  was  a  little  pale,  a  little 
tired,  from  the  fatigues  of  the  London  season,  but 
lovelier  than  ever,  and  so  exquisitely  dressed  that 
Sophy  was  dumb  with  amaze  and  envy. 

"  Oh  Annie,  it  is  not  only  the  clothes  —  but  you 
have  such  a  —  such  an  air,  of  not  even  knowing  you 
have  them  on,"  she  cried  almost  jealously. 

"  I  have  only  been  away  a  few  weeks  but  I  have 
learnt  a  great  many  things,"  said  Annie  gaily.  "  Oh 
Sophy,  how  you  will  enjoy  coming  to  stay  with  me ! 
There  was  the  Opera  —  only  you  do  not  care  for 
music  as  I  do;  still  you  would  care  for  the  people  in 
their  fine  dresses  and  diamonds,  and  I  went  to  so 
many  dances  I  lost  count." 

"What  did  you  enjoy  most  of  all?"  Sophy  in- 
terrupted. 

"  My  early  morning  ride  with  him"  said  Annie, 
316 


COURTENAY'S  LONG  VACATION      317 

blushing.  "  Oh  Sophy,  I  hardly  ever  missed  it,  no 
matter  how  late  I  had  been  up  the  night  before,  and 
he  liked  it  best  too.  I  am  very  glad  though,  to  have 
had  the  experience  of  all  the  other  things.  It  will 
make  me  so  much  more  fit  to  be  —  to  be  Lady  Yor- 
ath,"  she  said,  laughing  and  blushing  more  deeply. 

"  And  you  will  be  able  to  have  as  many  London 
balls  and  dinner  parties  as  you  choose  all  your  life," 
said  Sophy,  discontentedly,  "  while  I  — " 

Annie  put  both  arms  round  her  little  sister,  and 
laid  her  lovely  face  against  that  plump  fair  cheek. 

11  What  does  anything  matter  if  you  love  him?" 
she  whispered  inconsequently ;  "  and  besides,  he  hates 
going  out,  and  so  we  have  privately  agreed  to  live  in 
the  country,  and  to  go  off  and  shoot  big  game  when- 
ever he  feels  inclined.  But  do  you  think  I  shouldn't 
be  just  as  happy  if  we  were  going  to  the  smallest  cot- 
tage —  together?  " 

"  It's  not  a  cottage  I'm  going  to,  but  a  nice-sized 
house,"  said  Sophy  the  practical.  "  The  living  is 
worth  six  hundred  a  year;  which  is  not  much  to  be 
sure,  but  then  he  has  as  much  again  of  his  own.  We 
shall  be  quite  comfortable.  But  I  do  think,  Annie, 
you  might  persuade  Mamma  to  let  it  be  a  recognised 
thing." 

"  Why,  she  says  Mr.  Cantrill  is  here  morning, 
noon  and  night,"  said  Annie,  laughing. 

"  I  daresay  he  is;  but  he  dare  not  so  much  as  give 
me  a  ring.  That  is  the  worst  of  a  man  being  so 
much  older.  It  makes  him  so  conscientious.  If  he 


3i8  THE  TYRANT 

were  younger  he  would  have  given  it  to  me  whether 
they  let  him  or  not,  and  I  could  have  worn  it  on  a 
ribbon  inside  my  dress  till  I  was  allowed  to  wear  it 
openly." 

"  Sophy,  are  you  sure  you  love  him?  "  cried  Annie, 
aghast  at  this  criticism. 

"  Of  course  I  love  him,"  said  Sophy  indignantly. 
"  I  don't  pretend  to  be  so  romantic  as  you  are,  Annie, 
but  I  wouldn't  marry  anyone  I  didn't  love,  far  less  a 
clergyman  I  though  to  be  sure  he  is  still  more  in  love 
with  me.  He  thinks  me  perfect,  and  of  course  when 
a  person  thinks  that  of  one,  one  is  bound  to  live  up 
to  it." 

'  Yes,"  Annie  said,  and  her  blue  eyes  grew  dreamy 
and  a  smile  played  about  her  mouth. 

'  You  hardly  listen  to  what  I  say,"  cried  Sophy 
jealously.  '  You're  like  a  person  in  a  dream.  And 
yet  I  was  counting  the  moments  for  you  to  come  back, 
thinking  we  would  take  counsel  together  over  every- 
thing. For  what  is  the  use  of  our  falling  in  love, 
and  getting  proposals,  and  being  engaged,  or  any- 
thing else,  if  it's  all  to  be  put  a  stop  to  when  Papa 
comes  home?  Mamma  may  say  what  she  likes,  but 
/  am  certain  that  his  cable  meant  he  hadn't  the  slight- 
est intention  of  giving  his  consent  to  your  marrying 
Lord  Yorath.  And  Granny  thinks  the  same  though 
she  tries  to  hide  it  from  me.  And  if  he  won't  let 
you  make  one  of  the  best  matches  in  the  world  just 
because  he  had  one  of  his  everlasting  rows  with  Lord 


COURTENAY'S  LONG  VACATION      319 

Yorath,"  cried  Sophy  vehemently,  "  ask  yourself 
what  chance  there  will  be  for  Ambrose  and  me. 
You  know  how  fond  Papa  is  of  a  parson  at  the  best 
of  times." 

"  Sophy,  it  was  Papa's  cable  that  made  us  decide, 
after  all,  to  leave  London  after  Ascot,  and  not  stay 
on  to  the  end  of  the  season  as  Lady  Yorath  had 
planned.  Mamma  —  poor  Mamma,  tried  to  make 
the  best  of  it,  as  she  always  tries  to  do  —  but  when  I 
thought  of  the  letter  Austen  wrote,  which  I  made  him 
.show  me,"  said  Annie  softly,  "  though  I  would  not 
show  him  mine;  and  of  how  we  both  begged  him  so 
respectfully,  so  —  so  —  affectionately  —  to  make 
the  cable  as  clear  as  he  could  that  he  would  consent, 
—  and  then  we  got  that  answer,  why,  I  couldn't  help 
taking  it  as  you  do.  Not  that  it  would  be  all  right 
when  he  came  home,  but  more  in  his  usual  way,  as  — 
well,  as  a  threat." 

u  I  am  sure  it  is  a  threat.  I  said  so  from  the 
first,"  cried  Sophy. 

"  It  was  that  which  brought  me  home,"  said 
Annie.  She  drew  closer ;  almost  laughing,  but  rather 
tremulously,  and  there  were  tears  in  her  blue  eyes. 

"  Sophy,"  she  whispered,  "  can  you  keep  a 
secret?" 

Annette  said  to  herself  that  she  had  never  realised 
all  the  charm  of  Annie's  sympathy  until  now. 
Everyone  was  in  a  better  humour  for  her  presence, 


320  THE  TYRANT 

and  even  Mr.  Cantrill  roused  himself  from  his  ab- 
sorption in  Sophy  to  tell  old  Mr.  Meredydd  that  her 
sister  was  a  bright  being. 

Mr.  Meredydd  had  been  deeply  wounded  by  the 
news  of  Annie's  engagement,  which  had  been  broken 
to  him  by  his  son  before  his  departure  for  the  Argen- 
tine. 

"  Nothing's  to  be  given  out  yet,  but  it's  all  settled. 
I've  had  a  little  note  from  her,  and  she's  engaged  to 
Lord  Yorath,"  Jack  said  to  his  father.  "  You  must 
forget  what  I  told  you,  dad.  The  fact  is,  I  oughtn't 
to  have  said  a  word.  I  was  counting  my  chickens  be- 
fore they  were  hatched." 

"  I  cannot  but  think  she  must  have  given  you  en- 
couragement, Jack,"  said  Mr.  Meredydd,  with  a 
trembling  lip. 

"  Never  a  whit,"  said  Jack  stoutly. 

If  he  suffered,  he  hid  it  manfully ;  wrote  a  note  of 
hearty  congratulation  to  Annie,  and  went  off  with  a 
bright  face. 

His  father  believed  he  was  broken-hearted;  and 
though  his  letters  breathed  hope  and  energy  in  every 
line,  doubted  while  he  rejoiced  over  them. 

He  still  feared  Annie  must  have  given  his  son  en- 
couragement. But  when  he  saw  her  again,  she  was 
so  very  lovely  that  he  almost  forgave  her,  and  pres- 
ently became  friendly  with  her  betrothed. 

Lord  Yorath  rode  or  motored  over  to  Nantgwilt 
daily.  Sometimes  Annie  rode  or  drove  with  him 
alone,  but  more  often  picnics  and  excursions  were 


COURTENAY'S  LONG  VACATION      321 

arranged.  Mr.  Cantrill  wished  to  see  the  ruined 
castles  and  abbeys  with  which  the  neighbourhood 
abounded,  and  Sophy  was  fond  of  picnics,  and  de- 
lighted to  order  provisions  and  pack  baskets. 

Mrs.  Kemys  found  herself  drawn  into  these  expe- 
ditions as  chaperon,  and  old  Mr.  Meredydd  came 
with  his  clerical  guest,  whose  infatuation  for  little 
Sophy  Kemys  filled  him  with  amazement. 

Mr.  Meredydd  had  not  even  been  aware  that 
Sophy  was  grown  up  until  his  visitor  confided  to  him 
the  interesting  fact  of  his  attachment.  The  double 
romance  made  the  picnics  delightful  to  the  young, 
and  not  less  so  perhaps  to  their  elders. 

Sometimes  Lady  Yorath  joined  them,  and  then 
more  elaborate  preparations  were  made.  A  second 
motor  with  servants  and  hampers  was  sent  to  the 
destined  rendezvous,  and  she  generally  brought  her 
niece  or  some  other  guest  with  her. 

She  was  always  bright,  always  interested;  and  she 
looked  younger,  Mrs.  Kemys  thought,  every  day. 

"  But  you  are  fretting  yourself  into  a  shadow," 
she  said.  "  Annie  did  not  tell  me.  These  young 
folk  are  so  wrapt  up  in  their  own  affairs." 

"  I  am  always  thin.  I  feel  the  heat,  and  I  have  a 
good  deal  to  do  one  way  and  another,  since  Richard 
went  away,"  said  Annette,  smiling. 

Lady  Yorath  looked  at  her  with  grave  hazel  eyes. 

"  You  take  no  care  of  yourself.  Now  I  will  not 
give  you  good  advice,  for  that  is  an  odious  thing. 
It  relieves  the  mind  of  the  giver  at  the  expense  of 


322  THE  TYRANT 

the  recipient.  But  some  day  —  when  Annie  and 
Austen  are  married,  I  shall  take  you  away  with  me  to 
—  to  —  where  shall  I  take  you?  The  Ionian  Isles? 
Sicily?  Venice?  It  must  be  according  to  the  time  of 
year.  But  whenever  you  are  able  you  must  come 
and  let  me  take  care  of  you,  and  teach  you  some  of 
my  own  philosophy,"  she  said.  '  Will  you  come?  " 

"  If  ever  I  have  the  opportunity  I  will  come." 

"  That  is  a  promise,"  said  Lady  Yorath,  seriously. 

"  It  is  a  promise.     But  are  you  a  philosopher?  " 

"Am  I  not  always  gay?  Or  if  not  gay  —  con- 
tented?" 

"  You  have  a  great  deal  to  make  you  contented." 

"  Tell  me  what,"  she  said,  smiling. 

Annette  thought  of  the  contrast  they  must  present 
to  the  onlookers.  She  could  not  see  herself,  but  she 
could  see  Lady  Yorath. 

A  statuesque  yet  graceful  figure,  in  a  summer 
gown  of  silvery  grey,  with  floating  veil  of  gossamer 
lending  a  tender  shade  to  her  face;  no  longer  young, 
nor  in  any  way  aping  the  trappings  of  youth ;  nothing 
could  be  more  quakerish  than  the  grey  veiled  hat  and 
soft  clouds  of  grey  tulle  swathing  the  throat  and  tied 
beneath  the  oval  chin;  but  at  the  same  time  nothing 
could  have  been  more  becoming. 

If  the  dark  hair  that  lay  on  the  broad  forehead 
were  frosted;  if  little  lines  could  be  traced  upon  the 
delicate  face;  if  a  few  crow's  feet  showed  at  the  cor- 
ners of  the  fine  hazel  eyes,  yet  she  remained  a  beau- 


COURTENAY'S  LONG  VACATION      323 

tiful  woman,  spiritual,  humorous,  experienced,  in  a 
word  —  charming. 

Annette  said  nothing,  but  her  smile  was  express- 
ive, and  Lady  Yorath  did  not  affect  to  misunder- 
stand it. 

"  But  I  am  nearly  fifty,"  she  said,  "  and  I  lost  my 
husband,  who  was  everything  in  the  world  to  me  — 
twenty  years  ago.  When  he  died,  I  thought  my  life 
must  end.  Yet  I  have  been  obliged  to  go  on,  as  you 
see.  That  is,  what  is  left  of  me.  It  flits  about  — 
looking  for  distraction." 

"  Shedding  happiness  right  and  left,"  murmured 
Annette  J  "  doing  kindnesses  — " 

Lady  Yorath  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  That  by  the  way,  perhaps.  But  the  world  has 
been  empty,  for  all  that." 

Mrs.  Kemys  looked  troubled.  She  glanced  away 
from  the  speaker  towards  the  hawk  profile  and  tall 
figure  of  Lord  Yorath,  who  was  leaning  against  a 
tree,  smiling  lazily  down  upon  the  exertions  of  the 
others,  who  were  blowing  at  a  little  fire  of  sticks. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  tell  me,"  said  Lady  Yo- 
rath, with  a  very  gentle  mockery  in  her  tones,  "  that 
a  mother  lives  again  in  the  lives  of  her  children? 
Though  it  is  such  a  popular  axiom." 

"  I  should  think  many  a  mother  must  have  smiled 
at  it,"  said  Annette,  and  she  smiled  herself.  "  Every 
day  —  every  day  one  lives  and  watches  them  grow 
up,  God  bless  them  —  one  becomes  conscious  that 


324  THE  TYRANT 

these  are  separate  existences  of  which  we  know  —  al- 
most nothing." 

"  We  know  a  good  deal,"  said  Lady  Yorath,  shak- 
ing her  head;  "but  only  because  we  watch  so  anx- 
iously ;  and  because  we  knew  them  so  well  when  they 
were  little.  They  tell  us  nothing,  or  only  what  they 
are  pleased  to  think  lies  within  our  comprehension." 

"  They  cannot  tell  us,  for  they  do  not  understand 
themselves.  Life  is  so  new  to  them." 

"  And  we  are  so  old ;  so  antiquated  and  out  of 
date.  They  criticise  us  secretly  even  if  they  are  too 
kind  to  criticise  us  openly.  But  we  remember  we 
were  the  same  once,  I  suppose,  and  so  we  laugh  and 
forgive  them,"  said  Lady  Yorath.  "  I  adore  my 
boy.  I  bless  God  for  him  every  day.  But  I  do  not 
pretend  to  think  /  —  that  is  me,  myself,"  she  inter- 
polated whimsically,  "  my  identity  —  has  ever  been 
merged,  in  his  in  any  way  whatsoever.  Of  course 
our  existences  are  as  separate  as  our  personalities. 
I  am  outside  his  life.  It  is  his  wife  who  will  come 
nearest  to  sharing  that." 

"  If  she  ever  is  his  wife,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  sigh- 
ing. 

"  Ah,  you  are  thinking  of  the  mysterious  cable. 
We  all  agreed  at  the  time  that  it  was  unsatisfactory, 
but  we  are  not  going  to  let  it  depress  us.  Of  course 
we  understand  that  everyone  could  not  be  so  forgiv- 
ing as  you  were  over  that  accident,  which,  as  it 
turned  out,  was  such  a  lucky  accident  for  Austen," 
said  Lady  Yorath,  prettily.  "  But  all  will  be  as  we 


COURTENAY'S  LONG  VACATION      325 

wish  in  the  end.  Annie  has  a  fine  spirit  of  her  own, 
and  Austen  is  a  match  for  a  dozen  reluctant  fathers, 
though  he  is  so  quiet  you  would  not  think  it,  per- 
haps." 

"  He  is  very  silent." 

"  He  is  silent  whenever  he  has  nothing  to  say, 
which  is  a  very  rare  quality!  But  when  he  speaks 
I  assure  you  it  is  very  much  to  the  point.  He  is' 
quite  as  clever  as  Annie,  though  in  a  different  way. 
He  has  more  judgment  and  she  more  perception. 
Hers  is  just  the  sort  of  cleverness  wanted  to  com- 
plete his  own.  So  between  them  they  will  do  very 
well." 

"  And  he  is  so  accomplished." 

"Oh,  accomplished!  That  is  a  matter  of  op- 
portunity, not  of  brains,"  said  Lady  Yorath,  her 
eager  interest  in  the  discussion  lending  a  thousand 
varieties  of  expression  to  her  charming  face.  "  But 
he  is  clever  with  his  hands.  There  is  nothing  he 
cannot  make.  That  means  a  reflective  brain  —  in- 
genuity. He  was  always  quite  sufficiently  clever  to 
make  me  fear  he  would  marry  a  fool.  Have  you 
not  noticed  how  clever  men  always  seem  to  pick  out 
the  silliest  and  most  commonplace  women  they  can 
find  to  marry?  And  form  their  opinion  of  the 
whole  sex  accordingly.  But,  thank  God,  Annie  has 
noble  qualities  as  well  as  beauty.  Her  intelligence, 
her  sincerity,  her  generosity,  are  stamped  on  her 
frank,  innocent  face.  Oh,  I  am  looking  forward  to 
some  remarkable  grandchildren,  and  you  must  do  the 


326  THE  TYRANT 

same!  Thus  we  shall  be  consoled  for  losing  a  son 
and  a  daughter." 

"  Dear  Lady  Yorath,  I  never  dare  to  look  for- 
ward to  anything,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Kemys. 

"  But  then  —  how  much  pleasure  you  lose." 
Lady  Yorath's  musical  voice  took  a  sudden  inflec- 
tion of  compassion.  "Are  you  really  afraid?  But 
why?  Here  are  all  of  us,  you  and  I,  and  the  two 
most  concerned,  and  even  Mr.  Turley, —  determined 
that  this  marriage  must  take  place  soon.  What 
can  one  man,  however  obstinate,  do  in  the  face  of 
such  a  combination  of  wills?  Even  if  he  meant  to 
be  so  unreasonable  as  to  oppose  it,  which  the  cable 
does  not  necessarily  imply.  Never  have  two  words 
lent  themselves  to  so  much  argument,"  she  ended 
laughing. 

To  herself  she  said,  shrugging  her  shoulders,  "  I 
should  like  to  encounter  this  redoubtable  Richard, 
whose  wife  turns  pale  at  the  very  thought  of  his 
opposition." 

The  summer  days  passed,  bringing  no  change, 
save  that  little  Corney  came  home  for  his  holidays, 
very  well,  and  brown  and  merry;  while  Courtenay 
returned  for  the  long  vacation,  paler  and  taller  than 
ever,  having  evidently  overworked  himself. 

Courtenay's  sojourn  at  the  Manor  House,  how- 
ever, was  not  to  be  a  long  one.  He  had  a  conver- 
sation with  his  mother  a  few  days  after  his  arrival, 
which  led  to  this  result. 


COURTENAY'S  LONG  VACATION      327 

He  was,  in  his  way,  a  conscientious  youth,  but 
nevertheless  he  was  not  above  the  affectation  of  pre- 
tending to  be  absorbed  in  his  Greek  testament  as  she 
came  across  the  garden,  work-basket  in  hand,  to  the 
bench  beside  the  low  wicker  chair  where  he  lay,  re- 
posing his  long  limbs  in  the  early  morning  sunshine. 

The  sound  of  the  grass-cutter  came  pleasantly 
through  the  still  air,  and  the  occasional  call  of  the 
man  guiding  his  horses  up  and  down  the  slope  of  the 
meadow-land  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  feathery  sea 
of  ripe  grass  which  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  fallen 
crop. 

Courtenay  was  doubly  self-conscious  just  now,  be- 
cause he  desired  to  bestow  a  gentle  lecture  upon  his 
parent  and  had  not  quite  made  up  his  mind  how  to 
begin.  As  she  innocently  supposed  him  to  be  ab- 
sorbed in  study  she  afforded  him  no  opening,  and 
consequently  he  was  presently  obliged  to  plunge  sud- 
denly into  the  topic  uppermost  in  his  mind. 

"  In  my  father's  absence  I  cannot  think  it  right, 
mother,  that  Cantrill  should  be  permitted  to  make 
himself  quite  so  much  at  home  as  he  does.  Annie 
and  Yorath  are  all  very  well.  That  is  a  different 
matter.  Nobody  could  desire  a  better  marriage  for 
her,  and  Yorath  is  a  particularly  charming  man.  Be- 
sides everyone  knows  all  about  him.  But  after  all, 
who  is  Cantrill?  And  what  do  we  know  of  him?  " 

"  I  am  glad  you  approve  of  Lord  Yorath,"  said 
Mrs.  Kemys,  half  smiling  and  half  vexed.  "  But 
I  happen  to  think  Mr.  Cantrill  a  very  charming 


328  THE  TYRANT 

man,  too,  in  his  way.  And  as  for  what  we  know 
about  him, —  we  know  he  is  a  great  friend  of  Canon 
Brettle's  and  the  guest  of  Mr.  Meredydd." 

"  But  I  cannot  find  out  that  you  have  made  any 
enquiries  about  him,"  said  Courtenay,  "  beyond 
those  two  facts  which  mean  nothing.  Sophy  seems 
to  think  that  he  must  be  everything  desirable  simply 
because  his  sister  married  a  septuagenarian  bishop. 
In  the  absence  of  my  father,  and  —  and  Rodric,  I 
think  you  might  have  consulted  me." 

"  My  dear  boy,  your  father  will  make  any  en- 
quiries he  chooses  when  he  returns." 

"  I  do  not  for  a  moment  believe  that  my  father 
will  sanction  the  engagement." 

"  That  may  be,  Courtenay,  but  until  he  comes 
I  have  to  act  as  I  think  proper.  And  there  is  So- 
phy's happiness  to  be  considered.  I  think  you 
should  consider  it  particularly,  for  she  has  always 
been  a  very  devoted  little  sister  to  you." 

"  I  am  considering  it,  but  my  desire  for  her  wel- 
fare does  not  blind  me  to  the  fact  that  she  is  a  mere 
child,  who  cannot  know  her  own  mind,"  said  Court- 
enay loftily. 

"  She  is  eighteen  now.  I  was  Roddy's  mother 
before  I  was  nineteen,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  remem- 
bering Mr.  Cantrill's  arguments. 

Courtenay  was  disconcerted,  but  not  silenced. 

"  He  is  much  too  old  for  her,  and  I  am  surprised 
she  should  fancy  him  at  all,  for  personally  I  con- 
sider him  a  prig.  He  corrected  a  quotation  I  made 


COURTENAY'S  LONG  VACATION      329 

yesterday  at  luncheon  in  the  most  uncalled  for  way, 
considering  I  was  his  host." 

Courtenay  had  occupied  his  father's  place  with 
great  content  and  dignity  since  his  return. 

"  Dear  boy,  let  us  go  on  happily  together  while 
we  can,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys  pleadingly.  "  Troubles 
and  partings  come  soon  enough.  Your  sisters  have 
had  little  pleasure  in  their  young  lives.  Do  not 
grudge  them  their  enjoyment  of  these  bright  summer 
days.  You  will  like  Mr.  Cantrill  better  when  you 
know  him  better,  and  I  think  you  will  enjoy  the  pic- 
nics too." 

"  Picnics  are  not  In  my  line,"  said  Courtenay,  dis- 
contentedly, "  and  Sophy  is  so  taken  up  — " 

"  Is  that  it?  "  she  smiled  at  him  kindly.  "  My 
poor  boy.  But  I  want  you  to  enjoy  your  holidays. 
What  would  you  like  to  do,  if  you  do  not  care  for 
picnics?  I  want  you  to  be  happy  too." 

"  That  is  beside  the  point.  I  do  not  look  for  hap- 
piness. Besides,  I  question  very  much  if  human  life 
was  ever  intended  to  be  happy,"  said'  Courtenay, 
gloomily.  "  I  was  not  thinking  of  my  personal 
wishes." 

"  But  I  want  you  to  think  of  your  personal 
wishes." 

"How  can  I?"  he  muttered.  "When  you've 
had  so  many  expenses,  what  with  Manuel,  and  Rod- 
dy—  and  one  thing  and  another — " 

"  Then  there  is  something  you  have  set  your  heart 
on.  Dear  Courtenay,  tell  me  what  it  is.  Never 


330  THE  TYRANT 

mind   expense.     I   might   be    able   to   manage   it." 

"  I  am  not  asking  it,  mother,"  he  said,  almost  an- 
grily, "  do  you  suppose  I  can't  see  that  you'll  have 
trouble  enough  when  my  father1  comes  home? 
When  I  think  of  all  you've  been  doing.  Even  if  it 
is  as  you  say  —  that  Mr.  Turley  found  you  had  a 
claim  to  —  to  money,  I've  no  right  to  ask  you  to 
throw  it  away  upon  me." 

She  would  have  risen  and  kissed  him  if  she  dared, 
but  she  was  a  well-trained  mother  of  sons,  so  she 
refrained  from  any  such  demonstration,  and  con- 
tented herself  with  leaning  forward  to  bestow  a  soft 
caress  on  the  sleeve  of  his  blue  serge  jacket. 

His  consideration  touched  her.  Perhaps,  as  his 
brothers  and  sisters  declared,  Courtenay  was  a  prig, 
but  he  was  a  good  boy  in  the  main,  and  if  not  usu- 
ally given  to  much  thought  for  others,  at  least  he 
thought  of  his  mother. 

"  My  darling  boy.  It  would  not  be  throwing  it 
away.  I  would  do  as  much  for  you  as  for  Roddy. 
And  you  deserve  a  holiday  if  anyone  does.  You 
have  cost  us  hardly  anything.  When  I  think  of  your 
scholarships  —  and  your  hard  work  — " 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Courtenay,  in  great 
alarm.  He  could  accept  Sophy's  gross  flattery  of 
his  mediocre  lyrical  efforts,  with  equanimity,  and 
even  eagerness;  but  when  a  chance  word  of  praise 
was  bestowed  upon  his  real  achievements  he  grew 
restive  and  uncomfortable. 


COURTENAY'S  LONG  VACATION      331 

'  You  can't  compare  my  case  with  Roddy's.  He 
was  being  started  in  life.  My  case  is  quite  differ- 
ent." 

"  I  don't  know  what  your  case  is,  dear." 

She  drew  from  him  at  length  the  admission  of 
his  yearning  to  join  a  select  company  of  his  own  espe- 
cial cronies,  who  had  planned  a  reading  party  in 
Switzerland;  intending  to  combine  work  with  sight- 
seeing. 

"  But,  Courtenay,  there  is  no  reason  on  earth  why 
you  shouldn't  go." 

He  mentioned  the  probable  cost  of  his  own  share 
of  the  expedition. 

"  My  dearest  boy !  It  would  not  amount  to  much 
more  than  the  price  of  a  couple  of  new  dresses  for 
Annie." 

"  Then  it's  a  great  shame  that  girls'  clothes 
should  be  allowed  to  cost  so  much,"  said  Courtenay, 
thunderstruck. 

"  So  much  that  you  see  your  going  or  staying  will 
make  practically  no  difference,"  she  said,  smiling  ner- 
vously. 

"  It  will  make  all  the  difference  to  me,"  exclaimed 
Courtenay.  "  All  the  difference  to  my  chances  of  dis- 
tinguishing myself  —  apart  from  the  enjoyment, — 
and  apart  from  the  good  to  my  health,  for,  after  all, 
one  has  to  consider  keeping  fit  if  one  wants  to  be 
good  for  anything." 

His  light  blue  eyes  lit  up  with  excitement.     He 


332  THE  TYRANT 

could  not  sit  still,  but  picked  up  his  book  from  the 
lawn,  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down  in  great  agi- 
tation. 

"  If  you  are  quite,  quite  sure,  mother,  that  it 
won't  add  to  your  difficulties, —  of  course  it  would 
be  heaven  on  earth  to  me.  When  you  think  I  have 
never  been  outside  England!  But  I  thought  it 
might  be  —  just  the  last  straw — " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  The  only  difference  it  will  make  to  me  is  that 
I  shall  be  sorry  not  to  have  you  with  me,  dear  boy." 

"  I  shall  be  here  another  day  or  two,"  he  said 
consolingly.  "  And  I  say  —  I  can  go  and  look  up 
Manuel  —  and  tell  you  how  the  little  chap  is  get- 
ting on." 

;'  That  will  be  another  great  advantage,"  she  said 
gratefully,  "  though  I  have  splendid  reports." 

"  I  must  make  my  arrangements  at  once,"  said 
Courtenay. 

His  listless  manner  had  vanished.  He  put  the 
Greek  testament  into  his  pocket,  and  his  expression 
was  alert  and  joyful. 

"  Do,  my  darling.  I  hope  you  will  have  a  happy 
summer." 

"  I  think  I  can  promise  you  it  will  be  a  profitable 
one,"  he  said,  looking  almost  radiant. 

He  fidgeted  around  her  bench  for  a  moment,  and 
then  said  suddenly  and  shyly: 

'  You  know,  mother,  I  shall  return  it  all  to 
you  one  day  —  a  thousand- fold," — and  actually 


COURTENAY'S  LONG  VACATION      333 

stooped  and  gave  her  a  hurried  kiss,  in  full  view  of 
the  Manor  House  windows. 

Three  days  later  Courtenay  departed,  vainly  try- 
ing to  conceal  the  elation  that  possessed  him. 

Just  before  mounting  the  dog-cart  that  was  to  con- 
vey him  and  his  modest  baggage  to  the  station,  he 
stepped  aside  from  the  group  assembled  on  the  steps 
of  the  Manor  House  to  witness  his  departure,  and 
said  a  few  words  in  his  mother's  ear. 

"  By  the  bye,  mother,  you  need  not  worry  any 
more  over  what  I  said  to  you  about  Cantrill." 

"  What  you  said  about  Mr.  Cantrill?  " 

"  He  is  all  right,  after  all,"  whispered  Courte- 
nay, excitedly.  "  There  is  no  need  for  you  to  make 
the  enquiries  I  advised.  I  have  just  found  out, — 
though,  if  you  will  believe  it,  Sophy  herself  did  not 
know  it  —  that  he  is  a  Fellow  of  Trinity,  and  got 
the  Ireland." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

CORNEY   WITH    A    LETTER 

THE  party  was  now  yet  further  diminished  in  num- 
bers by  the  departure  of  Sophy  —  whose  loud  com- 
plaints that  Annie  had  been  permitted  to  stay  for 
weeks  and  weeks  with  the  Yoraths  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  her  father  had  not  yet  given  his  consent 
to  the  engagement,  whereas  she  only  asked  to  be  al- 
lowed to  stay  from  Monday  to  Saturday  with  the 
bishop's  wife  —  at  last  took  effect. 

Her  mother  consented.  Sharman,  who  had  re- 
turned from  Switzerland,  was  to  go  with  her  as 
maid,  and  old  Mr.  Meredydd,  who  was  also  bid- 
den to  the  palace,  promised  to  escort  her. 

It  was  decreed,  in  accordance  with  his  sister's 
views  of  propriety,  that  Mr.  Cantrill  should  meet 
his  loved  one  under  the  episcopal  roof  and  not  ac- 
company her  upon  the  journey. 

Their  departure  was  something  of  a  relief,  for 
Sophy's  grievances  had  of  late  been  especially  pres- 
sing; and  Mrs.  Kemys  enjoyed  a  quiet  summer  even- 
ing, wandering  round  the  garden  with  Annie,  who 
carried  the  wooden  basket  while  her  mother  clipped 
off  the  dead  roses. 

"  I  have  never  known  the  roses  bloom  so  continu-, 
334 


CORNEY  WITH  A  LETTER        335 

ously.  But  then  I  have  never  known  such  a  sum- 
mer," she  said. 

"  Papa  is  a  wonderful  gardener,"  said  Annie. 
'  There  are  no  such  roses  at  Artramont.  It  is  not 
so  pretty  as  this  place,  mother,  though  it  is  so  much 
bigger  and  finer." 

"It  is  not  an  old  house  —  but  you  will  love  it 
better  than  this  in  time,  my  darling.  You  are  go- 
ing over  to  spend  the  day  there  to-morrow?  " 

"  Austen  is  coming  over  to  fetch  me  in  the  mo- 
tor," said  Annie.  "  I  hope  it  will  be  fine." 

"  The  sky  looks  rather  threatening,"  said  Mrs. 
Kemys.  "  We  could  do  with  a  thunderstorm.  It 
would  refresh  everything  after  the  heat.  But  I  hope 
if  it  comes  that  it  will  not  break  up  the  summer." 

"  Mother,  do  you  know  that  this  has  been  the 
happiest  summer  of  my  whole  life?  " 

"  I  am  glad,  my  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  but 
she  felt  a  little  pang,  nevertheless. 

"  Oh,  Mamma,  you  are  thinking  it  is  because  of 
Austen,  and  of  course  it  must  be;  how  could  I  help 
it?  His  love  has  glorified  everything.  But  it  has 
been  home  too.  For  I  have  been  even  happier  here 
than  I  was  in  London.  It's  all  been  ideal;  you  so 
sweet  and  dear,  and  the  beautiful  summer  days  with 
no  ugly  words  or  rows  to  disfigure  them,  as  there 
used  to  be.  The  long  happy  days  with  Austen,  and 
the  long  peaceful  evenings  with  you.  I  have  an  in- 
stinct that  tells  me  such  a  time  can  never  come  to 


336  THE  TYRANT 

me  again  in  all  my  life,  however  happy  I  may  be. 
It's  been  too  like  Paradise." 

They  were  walking  down  the  ilex  avenue  now,  and 
she  stopped  suddenly,  and  put  her  arms  about  her 
mother,  and  cried  a  little. 

"Annie,  dearest,  what  is  it?  You  are  over 
tired?" 

"  No,  no.  Oh,  Mamma !  You  always  think  of 
one's  bodily  health,"  cried  Annie,  half  laughing  and 
half  impatient.  "  Don't  you  know  that  one  may 
be  so  happy  that  one  can't  bear  it?  That  it  makes 
one  suddenly  see  too  clearly  the  unhappy  side  of  life? 
The  partings  —  the  endings  of  old  things  that  must 
come  with  the  beginnings  of  new  ones.  Wasn't 
there  ever  a  time  in  your  life  when  you  felt  like  that? 
—  thinking  that  your  joy  must  bring  sorrow  to  some- 
one — " 

"  I  don't  think  I  was  ever  so  tender-hearted  as 
you  are,  my  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys,  simply. 
"  I  was  wrapt  up  in  my  own  bliss.  I  look  back  and 
wonder  at  my  selfishness  — " 

"Were  you  ever  selfish?  And  had  you  ever  a 
summer  in  your  life  like  this?  Do  you  mean  when 
you  and  Papa  — "  Annie's  wonder  made  her  tone 
incredulous. 

"  Oh,  Annie,  yes,  yes,"  cried  her  mother,  but  she 
could  not  put  her  memories  into  words,  though  her 
tremulous  smile,  and  the  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she 
looked  at  her  child  were  eloquent. 

She  thought  of  that  long  past  summer,  and  the 


CORNEY  WITH  A  LETTER       337 

far-off  days  when  she,  too,  trod  upon  air,  and  dwelt, 
in  dreams;  and  of  a  girl  as  fair  as  Annie,  with  a 
young  lover  more  imperious,  more  eager,  but  not  less 
devoted  than  Annie's  lover,  who  was  so  tender  and 
so  considerate  of  her  child. 

''  Is  there  anything  more  depressing  than  a  wet 
day  in  summer?"  asked  old  Mrs.  Kemys,  dismally. 
There  had  been  a  violent  thunderstorm  during  the 
night,  and  the  rain  had  descended  steadily  through- 
out the  day.  She  looked  out  upon  muddy  walks, 
soaked  grass,  dripping  trees,  and  sodden  roses  droop- 
ing their  melancholy  heads,  with  half  their  petals 
dashed  to  earth.  "  Look  at  my  geraniums  all 
splashed  and  spoilt.  I  can  see  them  absolutely  shiv- 
ering in  this  unaccustomed  chill  and  storm  and  wind. 
And  let  me  tell  you,  my  dear,  that  the  expression  of 
your  face  reflects  the  dreariness  of  the  weather." 

"  I  suppose  the  suspense  is  beginning  to  tell  on 
me,"  said  Annette.  "  I  cannot  understand  getting 
no  news  from  Richard.  There  has  been  time  to 
hear  by  letter  since  his  cable  came.  I  don't  even 
know  where  he  is,  nor  when  he  expects  to  return. 
One  would  think  he  would  have  something  to  say 
about  Annie's  engagement,  even  if  he  does  not  ap- 
prove." 

"  It  would  be  more  like  him  to  say  nothing,  but 
catch  the  first  steamer  home,  and  walk  suddenly  in 
upon  us,  and  take  all  by  surprise,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys. 

"  He  would  not  take  me  by  surprise,"  said  An- 


338  THE  TYRANT 

nette,  "  for  that  is  exactly  what  I  am  expecting  him 
to  do,  every  hour  of  the  day  and  night." 

;t  Then  he  will  not  do  it,  my  dear,  since  it  is  always 
the  unexpected  which  happens." 

"  I  think  he  will  do  it,  dear  Granny." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  old  Mrs.  Kemys  said, 
with  an  attempt  at  lightness  — 

"  After  all,  he  cannot  kill  you." 

"  Do  you  think  if  he  did  —  that  I  should  care 
very  much?  "  said  Annette,  gazing  out  upon  the  rain 
with  her  £Jhin  in  her  hand.  "  Anything  would  be 
better  than  the  suspense  I  have  endured  lately." 

"  My  dear,  you  have  done  wonders.  Whatever 
Richard  may  say  to  you  he  cannot  undo  the  good  you 
have  done  for  the  children.  There  is  little  Manuel, 
growing  stronger  every  day,  through  the  mercy  of 
God  and  the  energy  of  his  mother;  poor  Courtenay 
enjoying  a  respite,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  from  the  burn- 
ing of  the  midnight  oil,  and  I  trust  stretching  his 
long  legs  and  straightening  his  cramped  back,  climb- 
ing the  Swiss  mountains;  Roddy,  dear  boy,  happy 
and  content  in  his  new  life;  Sophy  provided  for  — 
though  to  be  sure  that  is  more  by  good  luck  than 
good  management  —  and  Annie —  Well,"  said 
Mrs.  Kemys  chuckling,  "  Richard  will  hardly  be 
able  to  blame  you  for  Annie's  good  fortune,  since  it 
was  his  own  bad  driving  that  made  her  acquainted 
with  Lord  Yorath." 

"  Granny,  I  am  frightened  by  my  very  success. 
After  the  long  grey  time,  with  nothing  going  right, 


CORNEY  WITH  A  LETTER        339 

the  poor  children  discontented;  their  father  grum- 
bling, in  constant  displeasure;  I,  never  seeming  able 
to  mend  matters  though  I  worked  night  and  day; 
and  now  suddenly  —  suddenly  —  every  tangle  seems 
to  have  smoothed  itself  out  as  though  by  magic.  I 
did  evil  —  whatever  anyone  may  say  I  felt  it  to  be 
evil  —  that  good  might  come.  And  good  has  come 
with  a  completeness  that  makes  me  actually 
afraid—" 

;'  Why  not  put  it  differently?  It  would  be  just 
as  fair  to  say  that  Providence  helps  those  who  help 
themselves,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys  impatiently.  "  Of 
what  are  you  afraid?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  that  when  Richard  comes  back  the 
cup  of  happiness  will  be  dashed  from  Annie's  lips  at 
least  —  if  not  from  mine.  Things  cannot  go  on  in 
this  happy-go-lucky  yet  prosperous  manner.  It  is 
not  possible.  Misfortune  must  come." 

"  It  will  not  be  your  fault  if  it  does.  You  have 
done  the  best  you  can." 

"Have1  I?"  said  Annette.  "Dear  Granny,  I 
wonder.  I  wonder  if,  when  Richard  comes  home, 
and  you  know  exactly  what  I  have  done  —  whether 
you  will  blame  me?  " 

"  I  am  quite  sure  I  shall  not,"  said  Mrs.  Kemys, 
stubbornly.  "  Richard  has  treated  you  and  his 
children  with  great  injustice  for  a  number  of  years. 
If  you  have  therefore,  by  any  chance,  been  able  to 
get  the  better  of  him  during  his  absence,  why  in  his 
own  best  interests  and  those  of  his  children  you 


340  THE  TYRANT 

would  have  been  a  great  fool  not  to  do  so.  That 
is  my  common-sense  view  of  the  matter.  He  may 
blame  you  for  taking  advantage  of  him  —  and  no 
doubt  he  will.  But  after  all  he  wouldn't  -have  been 
the  least  grateful  to  you  if  you  hadn't.  He  would 
have  taken  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  just  as  he  has 
always  taken  your  devotion  to  him." 

"  It  would  have  been  a  matter  of  course  —  if  — " 

"  Exactly.     //." 

Then  they  were  both  silent,  looking  out  upon  the 
rain;  perhaps  equally  troubled  in  mind,  though  the 
older  lady  had  striven  so  decidedly  to  cheer  the 
younger. 

At  six  o'clock  the  rain  ceased,  Annette  took  leave 
of  her  mother-in-law,  and  returned  home,  picking 
her  way  across  the  wet  grass  to  the  door  in  the  wall 
which  opened  upon  the  kitchen-garden  of  the  Manor 
House. 

A  gleam  of  sunshine  broke  out,  lighting  the  rain 
drops  hanging  upon  the  gooseberry  and  currant 
bushes,  making  the  wet  paths  glisten,  and  gilding  the 
lower  branches  of  the  cedar,  which  rose  darkly, 
against  a  purple  bank  of  heavy  clouds.  It  lighted 
also  the  uncovered  flaxen  head  of  little  Corney,  who 
stood  in  the  garden  porch,  shading  his  eyes  with  his 
hand,  and  looking  out. 

"  Were  you  watching  for  me,  my  son?  " 

The  little  boy  nodded. 


CORNEY  WITH  A  LETTER       34i 

"  Are  you  coming  upstairs  to  your  own  room?  "  he 
asked,  anxiously. 

"  I  will  come,  if  you  wish  it.  Have  you  some- 
thing to  say  to  me?  " 

He  nodded  again. 

His  expression  was  important  and  his  ruddy  face 
grave  and  intent.  He  walked  upstairs  before  her, 
tramping  solemnly  in  his  heavy  boots,  leading  the 
way  to  her  room. 

"  Have  you  been  getting  into  mischief,  my  son?  " 
she  said. 

Corney  shut  the  door  and  stood  before  it,  like  a 
sentinel. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  It's  a  commission.  I  was  to 
give  you  something  from  Annie." 

He  took  a  letter  from  his  pocket. 

"  I  was  to  give  it  to  you  at  six  o'clock,  or  as  soon 
after  as  I  could.  But  you  were  to  be  alone  when  I 
gave  it  to  you.  It  is  past  six  now." 

Mrs.  Kemys  took  the  letter  and  read  it,  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Darling  mother, —  darling,  darling.  When  you 
get  this,  Austen  and  I  will  be  married.  It's  for  your 
sake,  or  do,  do  believe  we  would  never  have  done  it. 
It  has  been  so  hard  not  to  tell  you.  I  longed  to  tell 
you,  yesterday  evening,  when  we  were  walking  in 
the  garden,  you  cutting  off  the  dead  roses  and  I  car- 
rying the  basket  just  I  used  when  I  was  little.  I 
longed  to  cry  out  to  you  that  this  was  the  last  even- 


342  THE  TYRANT 

ing,  and  that  I  should  never  be  Annie  Kemys  any 
more. 

4  When  Papa  comes  home  now  he  can't  blame 
you,  poor  Mamma.  You  knew  nothing,  you  dreamt 
nothing.  It  was  just  Annie's  wickedness, —  our 
wickedness,  Austen's  and  mine. 

'  When  the  cablegram  came,  Austen  was  angry. 
He  is  very  stern  and  quiet  when  he  is  angry,  not  like 
Papa.  He  said  that  was  not  the  answer  we  had 
asked  for,  nor  the  answer  that  ought  to  have  been 
sent.  In  fact  it  was  no  answer  at  all.  And  I  agreed 
with  him,  and  knowing.  Papa,  I  felt  quite,  quite 
sure  that  it  only  meant  he  was  coming  home  to  have 
a  dreadful  row,  and  insult  Austen,  and  bully  you, 
and  make  you  so  unhappy  that  perhaps  from  pity 
I  might  be  forced  to  give  him  up  —  or  wait  at  least 
until  I  was  twenty-one. 

"  So  Austen  said  we  had  better  be  married  at 
once,  and  his  mother  said  so  too,  but  I  said  I  couldn't 
be  married  except  from  my  own  home,  and  that  I 
must  go  back  to  you  first.  And  she  thought  and 
said  I  was  quite  right  and  that  it  ought  not  to  be 
while  I  was  staying  with  them.  And  Austen  said 
wherever  it  was  the  responsibility  was  his  only,  and 
his  mother  must  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  She 
was  a  little  displeased,  I  am  afraid,  but  she  promised 
not  to  interfere,  and  it  was  agreed  that  instead  of 
staying  until  the  end  of  the  season  I  was  to  come 
home.  The  rest  is  all  between  Austen  and  me.  He 
brought  me  down  from  London  as  you  know,  and 


CORNET  WITH  A  LETTER    343 

on  the  way  we  settled  it  all,  and  oh  mother,  if  I  was 
a  little  disappointed  to  think  I  should  never  have  the 
beautiful  wedding  I  had  dreamt  of,  yet  when  I  saw 
your  dear  face  so  thin  and  white,  and  found  out  what 
you  tried  to  hide,  how  you  dreaded  Papa's  return, 
and  everything  falling  through,  and  the  old  unhappy 
days  coming  back,  and  your  Annie  losing  the  won- 
derful, wonderful  happiness  she  had  found  —  then 
I  could  not  regret  anything. 

"  I  let  Austen  plan  it  all  his  own  way.  It  would 
have  been  much  sooner  only  his  lawyers  were  so 
dreadfully  slow  because  he  said  there  must  be  proper 
settlements  and  things,  all  the  more  because  he  had 
the  sole  responsibility.  The  poor  Angel  had  to  have 
a  habitation  or  whatever  they  call  it  at  Chidlow  to 
enable  us  to  be  married  there.  He  chose  it  because 
it  was  so  far  off  and  no  one  would  know  him,  and 
we  are  to  be  married  at  two  o'clock  this  afternoon. 

"  Oh  mother  darling,  I  never  thought  I  should 
cry  on  my  wedding  day,  but  I  am  crying  now  be- 
cause it  seems  such  a  sad  strange  little  way  to  get 
married.  I'm  writing  this  in  my  room,  and  Austen 
will  be  here  presently  to  take  me  —  as  you  think  — 
to  Artramont,  but  really  to  Chidlow,  and  then  to 
London  where  we  pick  up  the  luggage  that  is  wait- 
ing for  me  in  Eaton  Place.  Oh,  it  is  raining  so 
hard,  I  shall  not  be  the  bride  the  sun  shines  on. 

u  I  am  going  to  trust  this  letter  to  little  Corney, 
who  is  the  wisest  and  safest  messenger  in  the  world 
and  who  will  do  exactly  what  he  promises  to  do. 


344  THE  TYRANT 

"  I  will  telegraph  our  address  to-morrow,  and 
then,  mother  darling,  you'll  write  to  me  and  forgive 
me,  and  say  you  understand.  Oh,  if  I  could  dare 
to  think  you  would  be  glad,  but  I  daren't  quite  hope 
for  that,  I  am  afraid  you  will  feel  obliged  to  be  a 
little  vexed.  But  think  how  much  trouble  and 
quarrelling  and  argument  and  crying  have  been 
avoided,  and  remember  I  am  going  to  marry  him 
whom  I  love  so  dearly  that  I  should  die  if  I  were 
parted  from  him,  and  forgive  your  own, 

"  Annie." 

"  Mother,  mother,"  said  little  Corney,  "  Annie 
said  I  was  to  stand  by  and  watch  while  you  read  her 
letter,  and  that  if  reading  it  made  you  unhappy,  I 
was  to  comfort  you.  Has  it  made  you  unhappy, 
mother  ?  "  said  the  little  boy,  anxiously. 

Mrs.  Kemys  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING 

THE  first  newspaper  placard  which  caught  the  eye 
of  Richard  Kemys  upon  his  arrival  in  London  from 
New  Zealand  —  acquainted  him  with  the  news  of 
his  daughter's  marriage. 

His  attention  was  attracted  by  the  sight  of  his 
own  name  in  large  letters.  Then  he  read : 

Romantic  wedding  of  sporting  Peer  with  Welsh 
Heiress.  Lord  Yorath,  the  well  known  Big  Game 
Hunter,  elopes  with  Miss  Kemys  of  Nantgwilt. 

He  stood  still  for  a  moment  before  the  announce- 
ment, and  then  lifted  his  hand  to  beckon  the  boy 
with  the  paper  .  .  .  The  dreaded  pang  shot 
through  his  left  breast  and  almost  paralysed  arm  and 
hand.  He  stood  motionless,  suffocating  —  unable 
to  move  . 

"  I  say,"  said  young  Bewan,  gently,  "  that  was  a 
bad  turn." 

With  a  kind  of  rough  solicitude  he  assisted  him 
presently  into  a  cab,  and  they  drove  off  together. 

Their  destination  was  the  Great  Western  Hotel. 

The  clip-clop  of  the  horse  fell  heavily  and  slowly 
on  their  ears,  as  they  sat,  side  by  side,  in  silence. 
The  heat  of  the  London  streets  on  this  summer  day 
345. 


346  THE  TYRANT 

was  almost  tropical.  The  dust  of  wood  paving,  the 
breath  of  asphalt  and  the  glare  of  stone  equally 
trying. 

Richard  Kemys  turned  his  blue  eyes  upon  his 
companion  with  something  of  the  past  agony  still 
lurking  in  their  depths. 

"  I  was  only  startled,  not  angry,"  he  said,  almost 
pleadingly.  "  It's  hard  luck  on  a  man  to  be  met 
with  a  —  a  sudden  shock  to  make  him  worse  again 
the  very  day  he  sets  foot  in  his  native  country. 
Where's  the  newspaper?  Did  you  get  it?  " 

"  I  got  it.  You  can't  read  it  now.  For  the 
Lord's  sake,  wait  till  you're  settled  comfortably  in 
your  own  room  before  you  begin  thinking  of  any- 
thing that  agitates  or  vexes  you." 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  vexes  me,"  said  Richard 
Kemys,  rather  sullenly. 

He  said  nothing  more  on  the  subject,  however, 
until  their  arrival  at  Paddington. 

Robert  Bewan  saw  him  safely  installed  in  an 
armchair  beside  the  open  window  of  his  bedroom, 
and  then  handed  him  over  the  paper,  with  a  warning 
look  and  word. 

The  paragraph  it  contained  told  Richard  no  more 
than  the  announcement  upon  the  placard;  beyond 
the  additional  statement  that  the  marriage  had  taken 
place  at  Chidlow. 

He  lay  back  with  closed  eyes  considering  the  mat- 
ter, almost  surprised  by  the  philosophic  calm  with 
which  he  was  inclined  to  regard  it. 


THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING       347 

The  time  of  his  anger  had  been  when  the  news 
of  his  daughter's  attachment  first  reached  him,  upon 
his  arrival  at  Auckland. 

The  voyage  had  been  uneventful.  His  health 
had  certainly  benefitted,  though  he  observed  with  an- 
noyance that  the  combination  of  good  living  and  in- 
activity was  causing  him  to  grow  perceptibly  and 
rapidly  stouter. 

There  had  been  no  return  of  the  pain  he  dreaded, 
and,  in  the  absence  of  its  return  his  fears  had  been 
almost  lulled  to  rest. 

He  did  not  forget  that  he  had  followed  the  doc- 
tor's advice  and  undertaken  the  sea  voyage,  but  he 
regretted  the  impulse  which  had  led  him  to  engage 
the  young  medico  to  accompany  him. 

Robert  Bewan  had  proved  a  most  good-natured 
and  unobtrusive,  if  rough-mannered  companion,  and 
he  was  as  popular  in  the  main  with  his  fellow-pas- 
sengers as  Richard  Kemys  was  the  reverse. 

But  he  had  been  of  no  use  to  his  employer  be- 
cause his  employer  had  been  to  all  appearances  per- 
fectly well;  and  though  Richard  could  not  be  sorry 
for  this,  he  was  very  sorry  that  he  had  wasted  a 
first  class  return  fare  upon  an  attendant  whose  serv- 
ices had  proved  unnecessary. 

He  did  not  make  himself  agreeable  to  young 
Bewan,  but  his  rudeness  was  met  by  an  imperturb- 
able good  temper.  It  was  evident  that  the  medical 
student  regarded  him  merely  as  a  cross  patient,  and 
humoured  him  accordingly.  There  was  little  satis- 


348  THE  TYRANT 

faction  to  be  got  out  of  snubbing  him,  but  Richard 
Kemys  got  what  satisfaction  he  could. 

The  immunity  from  further  manifestation  of  the 
dreaded  symptoms,  which  he  had  enjoyed  during  the 
voyage,  had  restored  his  confidence,  and  he  landed 
in  good  spirits,  and  almost  forgot  the  necessity  for 
mounting  guard  over  his  emotions  which  had  been 
urged  upon  him, —  so  that  when  he  read  his  wife's 
letters  informing  him  of  Lord  Yorath's  proposal  to 
Annie,  and  betraying  the  fact  that  the  acquaintance 
so  inauspiciously  begun  had  been  continued  during 
his  absence  —  he  gave  way  to  his  anger  without  at- 
tempting to  exercise  the  slightest  control  over  him- 
self. The  manliness  of  Lord  Yorath's  letter  did  not 
soothe  his  outraged  dignity,  nor  did  the  pleading  of 
his  daughter  assuage  his  wrath,  any  more  than  his 
wife's  anxious  representations  of  the  obvious  ad- 
vantages of  the  match.  He  sent  off  the  cablegram 
they  demanded  in  a  fury  indescribable,  meaning  it 
indeed,  as  Annie  had  divined,  to  be  a  threat. 

His  rage  was  cut  short  by  an  attack  so  severe  that 
it  threatened  to  suffocate  him.  It  was  followed  in 
a  few  hours  by  another,  and  a  day  or  two  later  by 
a  third.  His  alarms  returned  tenfold. 

Young  Bewan  now  repaid  his  patron's  incivility 
by  unremitting  kindness  and  attention ;  and  Richard, 
subdued,  and  even  terrified,  by  the  agony  he  had  en- 
dured, accepted  his  ministrations,  allowed  him  to 
call  in  the  best  medical  advice,  and  for  a  time  sub- 
mitted to  every  remedy  suggested. 


THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING       349 

The  New  Zealand  doctor  was  franker  than  the 
London  specialist  had  been,  or  took  a  more  serious 
view  of  the  case.  He  advised  Richard  to  postpone 
his  journey  home,  and  send  for  his  wife.  But  his 
patient  declared  he  was  better  at  sea,  and  insisted 
upon  undertaking  the  return  voyage  immediately. 
If  he  had  to  rest,  he  would  rest  at  home.  He  re- 
solved, however,  to  cultivate  henceforth  the  philos- 
ophy urged  upon  him  by  Robert  Bewan,  to  whom  he 
had  in  his  first  outburst  of  indignation,  confided  the 
fact  of  his  daughter's  engagement. 

Robert  Bewan  was  naturally  only  amused  and  in- 
terested by  this  sequel  to  the  motor  accident  he  had 
witnessed,  and  his  wonder,  not  unmingled  with  con- 
tempt, at  the  notion  that  any  man  could  allow  a 
mere  wound  to  his  own  amour  propre  to  stand  in  the 
way  of  his  child's  happiness,  and  a  marriage  so  ad- 
vantageous in  every  respect, —  was  expressed  with 
the  bluntness  that  characterized  him.  His  out- 
spokenness was  not  without  its  effect. 

Richard  began  to  wonder  at  himself,  and  even, 
perhaps,  to  grow  a  little  ashamed  in  secret  of  his 
outburst.  He  thought  too  of  the  fate  that  was 
threatening  him,  and  beside  it  the  importance  of 
all  other  happenings  appeared  to  dwindle.  Fool 
that  he  was  to  allow  himself  to  be  irritated  at  the 
risk  of  his  health  —  nay  of  his  life. 

After  all,  though  he  had  disliked  Lord  Yorath  at 
first  sight, —  and  his  brow  grew  dark  at  the  recol- 
lection of  the  handsome  face  that  had  confronted  his 


350  THE  TYRANT 

own  so  calmly  and  disdainfully  —  yet  it  could  not  be 
denied  that  such  a  marriage  would  be  a  fine  thing 
for  Annie. 

He  had  not  answered  his  wife's  letters  only  be- 
cause he  knew  that  his  silence  would  be  more  terrible 
to  her  than  any  expression  of  wrath ;  but  as  the  days 
went  on  he  became  glad  that  he  had  not  committed 
himself  in  writing,  nor  by  his  ambiguous  cable. 

He  was  very  ill  on  the  voyage  home,  how  ill  he 
perhaps  hardly  realised.  But  when  he  rallied,  and 
spent  long  hours  reclining  in  his  deck  chair,  he 
amused  himself  by  picturing  his  return  to  Nantgwilt. 
He  fancied  himself  obliging  his  haughty  would-be 
son-in-law  to  eat  humble-pie,  before  he  finally  re- 
lented and  permitted  his  daughter  to  marry  the  most 
eligible  bachelor  in  the  county. 

He  did  not  think  with  any  special  tenderness  of 
Annie,  though  of  all  his.  children  she  and  little 
Corney  had  come  nearest  to  the  finding  of  the  soft 
spot  in  his  heart,  if  any  such  soft  spot  could  be  said 
to  exist.  But  he  began  to  dwell  with  pleasure  upon 
the  thought  of  her  reigning  at  Artramont;  and  he 
tried  to  remember  all  he  had  ever  heard  of  the  for- 
tune Lord  Yorath's  grandfather  had  made. 

Since  therefore,  the  idea  of  the  marriage  had 
grown  familiar  to  him,  it  was  not  anger,  as  he  said, 
so  much  as  amaze  which  possessed  him  on  beholding 
the  announcement  of  the  newspaper  placard. 

He  was  struck  dumb  with  astonishment  that  he 
should  thus  be  set  at  naught,  and  that  the  marriage 


THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING       351 

he  had  but  just  made  up  his  mind  to  sanction,  should 
have  become  an  accomplished  fact  without  either  his 
authority  or  knowledge. 

"  I  suppose  it  was  the  —  the  surprise  which  upset 
me,"  he  said  to  young  Bewan. 

"  Whatever  it  was,  it's  a  good  thing  the  marriage 
is  over  for  your  sake,"  said  the  young  man,  sensibly. 
"  You'd  better  look  at  it  like  that.  A  wedding  al- 
ways means  a  lot  of  fuss,  and  bother,  and  emotion. 
And  very  likely  quarrelling  in  your  case,"  he  added 
to  himself,  but  this  reflection  he  kept  from  the  ears 
of  Mr.  Kemys. 

"  It's  all  very  well  —  but  I  know  I'm  talking  like 
a  fool  when  I  say  it's  this  or  that  which  upset  me. 
On  board  ship  —  there  was  no  reason,  and  yet  I  felt 
myself  getting  worse  every  day,"  said  the  older  man, 
gloomily.  "  I  don't  believe  I'm  in  a  fit  state  to  go 
home  at  all." 

"  I  don't  think  you're  in  a  fit  state  to  be  away 
from  home  just  now,"  said  young  Bewan,  soothingly. 
"  That's  the  right  way  to  put  it.  Look  here,  come 
with  me  to-morrow  and  see  the  man  you  saw  before 
leaving  England." 

"  You  told  me  he  wasn't  the  right  man." 

"  I'd  rather  you  saw  Sir  Jeremy,  of  course.  But 
you  jibed  at  that  last  time  I  suggested  it." 

"  Why  should  I  see  any  more  people?  "  said  Rich- 
ard Kemys  angrily.  "  Hasn't  the  ship's  surgeon 
been  looking  after  me  all  this  time?  You  did  noth- 
ing but  sing  his  praises.  For  my  part  the  New 


352  THE  TYRANT 

Zealand  fellow  was  the  only  doctor  I  believed  in. 
He  told  me  straight  out  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done  but  keep  my  courage  up  and  hope  for  the  best. 
How  much  plainer  would  you  have  a  man  speak? 
What's  the  use  of  dragging  me  round  to  any  more 
doctors  ?  You  know  very  well  they  can't  do  me  any 
good." 

The  medical  student  was  silent. 
"  We'll  stop  here  of  course  to-night,"  said  Richard, 
"  and  I'll  rest  through  the  heat  of  the  day  to-mor- 
row, if  it's  another  day  like  this ;  and  go  home  then 
in  the  cool  of  the  evening." 

"  Do  they  expect  you?    Have  you  written?  " 
"How  could  I  write?"  growled  Richard. 
"  Would  you  like  to  send  a  telegram?  " 
"  No,  I  shouldn't.     Look  here,  you  shall  come 
down  with  me,  and  see  my  wife,  and  prepare  her  for 
—  for  this.     Tell  her   I  know   all  about  this   in- 
fernal wedding  and  that  I  don't  care  a  straw  about 
that  or  —  or  anything  else  —  now.     Tell  her  she's 
got  to  keep  every  mortal  bother  and  worry  away 
from  me.     I  want  to  sit  in  the  garden  and  not  see 
a  soul  till  —  till  I'm  either  better  or  worse.     Or  if 
I've  got  to  see  a  doctor,  I'll  have  Harries.     I've 
known  him  all  my  life,  and  he's  just  as  good  as 
anyone  else." 

"  Suppose   Mrs.    Kemys    should   be   away   from 
home?" 

"  She's  never  away  from  home." 

"  You  ought  to  be  met  at  the  station." 


THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING        353 

"  I'll  walk.  For  God's  sake  don't  keep  making 
idiotic  suggestions.  Will  you  come  or  will  you 
not?" 

"  Oh,  I'll  come,"  said  the  young  man,  shrugging 
his  shoulders.  To  himself  he  said,  "  I'll  come  for 
the  wife's  sake." 

Thus  it  was  arranged  between  them  that  they 
should  travel  down  to  Nantgwilt  together  on  the 
morrow. 

Annette  had  spent  the  evening  out  of  doors  with 
little  Corney ;  listening  to  his  stories  of  his  school  ex- 
periences, and  his  boasting  of  what  "  our  fellows  " 
had  done  in  recent  school  matches. 

He  was  very  happy  to  have  his  mother  all  to 
himself,  and  chattered  away  until  a  late  hour,  when 
she  bethought  herself,  and  sent  him  to  bed. 

She  remained  in  the  pleasant  summer  darkness 
alone,  listening  absently  to  the  twitter  of  the  birds 
in  the  ilex  grove;  with  her  mind  full  of  Annie,  and 
of  the  letter  of  loving  reproach  and  forgiveness  and 
blessing  that  she  had  that  day  sent  her. 

The  square  embattled  tower  of  the  church,  out- 
lined against  a  pale  luminous  sky,  rose  above  the 
steep  roof  of  the  old  house.  Only  one  or  two  of 
the  windows  in  all  that  dark  mass  of  building 
showed  a  twinkling  light. 

A  Dresden  lamp,  with  a  yellow  shade,  stood  in 
the  oak  drawing-room,  and  its  cheerful  glow  was  cast 
in  a  brilliant  square  upon  the  lawn. 


354  THE  TYRANT 

The  porch  was  dark,  but  her  eyes,  accustomed  to 
the  darkness,  perceived  an  indistinct  movement  in 
the  doorway.  She  fancied  someone  had  come  out  of 
the  house  and  was  standing  there.  She  rose,  sup- 
posing that  old  Pryse,  who  liked  early  hours,  was 
fidgetting  about,  waiting  for  her  to  come  in,  that  he 
might  shut  up  the  house. 

But  as  she  moved  slowly  across  the  lawn  she  saw 
two  figures  cross  the  space  between  the  lamp  and  the 
uncurtained  window  of  the  drawing-room ;  and  one  of 
the  figures  —  massive,  square-shouldered,  unmis- 
takable —  she  recognised  instantly. 

The  shock  was  so  great  that  her  heart  almost 
ceased  beating. 

The  moment  had  come.  Everything  must  now  be 
known.  Her  own  treachery  —  was  it  treachery  ? 
She  told  herself  that  it  was,  as  she  stood  out  there 
among  the  deep  shadows,  shivering  in  the  breath- 
less heat  of  the  summer  night,  and  watching  that  un- 
conscious mighty  figure  of  her  husband  in  the  light. 

Everything  must  come  out.  The  absence  of 
Roddy  was  already  known,  but  that  of  Courtenay, 
and  little  Manuel  had  to  be  accounted  for.  Sophy's 
visit  to  the  bishop's  wife,  which  had  seemed  so 
reasonable  when  Sophy  and  Mr.  Cantrill  had  ar- 
gued in  its  favour,  now  suddenly  became  a  mon- 
strous thing  because  she  saw  it  with  Richard's 
eyes.  Annie's  marriage  —  ah,  if  he  had  come 
two  days  earlier !  Thank  God  he  had  not  come  two 
days  earlier. 


THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING        355 

The  absence  of  the  children  —  the  innovations  — 
the  repairs  —  the  cottages  —  how  reckless  she  had 
been;  but  to  what  excellent  purpose  1  She  clasped 
her  thin  hands  across  her  bosom  as  though  to  still 
the  tempestuous  beating  of  her  heart. 

She  said  to  herself  in  the  calm  of  despair  that  she 
had  sown  the  wind  and  must  reap  the  whirlwind. 

Then  suddenly  came  a  violent  reaction. 

She  realised  that  the  time  of  waiting  —  of  sicken- 
ing suspense  was  over  at  last;  and  she  was  conscious 
of  a  great  throb  of  relief  even  in  the  midst  of  ter- 
ror. No  reproaches,  no  punishment  could  be 
harder  to  bear  than  that  burden  of  secret  remorse. 

Richard  was,  after  all,  not  only  the  harsh,  irri- 
table, ill-tempered  paterfamilias  whom  her  children 
knew ;  he  was  also  the  man  who  had  been  her  lover 
in  happier  days ;  her  mate  who  had  come  back  to  her 
after  the  longest  separation  they  had  known  since 
they  were  wed.  She  would  go  to  him  boldly,  and 
throw  herself  into  his  arms,  and  cry  to  him,  "  Rich- 
ard, I  love  you,  and  I  have  wronged  you."  She 
would  pour  forth  her  confession  upon  his  breast. 

Perhaps  taken  by  surprise,  in  the  first  emotion  or 
gladness  of  his  home-coming,  remembering  the  many, 
many  times  that  she  had  accorded  forgiveness  to  him 
unasked  —  he  would  listen  to  her,  and  be  generous. 

But  if  this  were  too  great  a  happiness,  even  then 
—  oh,  paradise  on  earth  —  only  to  be  rid  of  the  bur- 
den of  secrecy,  of  disloyalty,  of  deception  —  and  to 
regain  her  lost  peace  of  mind. 


356  THE  TYRANT 

Richard's  figure  passed  and  repassed  the  lamp. 
Had  he  left  the  drawing-room?  If  so,  she  would 
meet  him  in  the  hall  —  perhaps  he  had  gone  upstairs 
to  seek  her  in  their  room  .  .  .  She  hesitated, 
took  her  courage  in  both  hands,  and  went  indoors. 

The  drawing-room  door  was  open,  and  by  the 
table  which  held  the  yellow  lamp  stood  a  young  man 
whom  she  had  never  seen  before.  An  ordinary 
looking  young  man,  with  a  bull-dog  face  and  shrewd 
eyes. 

He  came  forward,  as  she  paused,  startled,  upon 
the  threshold.  His  manners  were  respectful,  but 
perfectly  unembarrassed. 

"  Please  don't  be  frightened,"  he  said,  "  your 
husband  has  returned  home  unexpectedly,  and 
brought  me  with  him.  My  name's  Bewan.  I  ac- 
companied him  on  his  voyage  to  New  Zealand,  as 
no  doubt  you  know." 

"  I  did  not  know,"  Annette  hardly  knew  what  to 
say.  "  Where  is  my  husband?  "  she  said,  faltering. 
"  I  don't  understand." 

She  stood  irresolute,  inclined  to  turn  at  once  and 
go  in  search  of  Richard ;  but  the  young  man  held  up 
his  hand,  half  entreatingly,  half  authoritatively. 

"  Please  wait  —  I  know  you  must  think  it  strange. 
But  please  listen  for  a  moment.  He's  —  he's  not 
been  well." 

She  was  no  longer  inclined  to  move.     She  stood 


THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING        357 

looking  at  him,  with  her  pale  face  and  startled  eyes. 

"  I  saw  him  —  pass  the  window?  " 

"  Oh  yes  —  he's  all  right  so  far  as  appearance 
goes.  But  he  wants  me  to  —  to  explain  things  be- 
fore he  sees  you.  That's  why  he  went  upstairs  as 
soon  as  he  heard  you  were  in  the  garden,  and  left 
me  here  to  introduce  myself.  I'd  have  arranged  it 
better  if  I'd  known  how.  But  he's  not  an  easy  per- 
son to  manage,  as  I  daresay  you  know.  To  begin 
with,  he  wasn't  fit  to  travel  at  all  to-day,  far  less 
walk  up  from  the  station.  I'd  no  idea  there  was 
such  a  hill.  But  he  gets  into  such  a  violent  state  if 
he's  contradicted  that  I  was  just  obliged  to  let  him 
do  as  he  liked." 

"  Please  explain  as  quickly  as  you  can,  and  let  me 
go  to  him,"  said  Annette.  Her  gentle  dignity  con- 
cealed both  her  alarm  and  her  offence  at  this  manner 
of  Richard's  home-coming;  remorse  was  momen- 
tarily dispelled  by  indignation. 

"  It's  not  so  easy  to  explain  —  since  he's  chosen, 
so  far  as  I  can  gather,  to  make  such  a  mystery  over 
the  whole  bag  of  tricks,"  said  Bewan,  in  rather 
vexed  tones.  "  I  met  him  first  the  day  he  was  upset 
out  of  a  dog-cart, —  I  happened  to  be  passing  — " 

"You  were  the  man  on  the  bicycle?"  she  inter- 
rupted quickly. 

"  I  was  the  man  on  the  bicycle  —  if  you  like  to 
put  it  that  way.  I  am  a  medical  student,  and  I  did 
what  I  could  for  your  daughter  — " 


358  THE  TYRANT 

"  Yes,  yes.  They  told  me  — "  she  tried  to  hurry 
out  a  word  of  thanks  in  the  midst  of  her  perceptible 
agony  of  impatience. 

"  That's  nothing.  Lord  Yorath  carried  her  off 
to  the  hospital,  and  I  remained  with  your  husband, 
and  attended  to  him." 

An  exclamation  escaped  the  lips  of  Annette. 

"  Was  he  hurt  then,  after  all?  " 

"  Not  to  say  hurt.  He  was  shaken.  It  wasn't 
that.  And  yet  that  may  have  had  a  good  deal  to  do 
with  it  too.  It  may  have  set  something  going  — 
that  was  ripe  for  mischief.  Anyway  he  had  an  at- 
tack of  the  heart." 

"Richard!" 

"  I  told  him  what  I  thought  it  was,  and  advised 
him  to  see  a  specialist,  and  there  the  matter  ended 
so  far  as  I  was  concerned.  But  a  day  or  two  later 
I  ran  up  against  him  at  the  Great  Western  Hotel." 

"  Yes." 

"  He'd  consulted  a  doctor,  who'd  confirmed  my 
opinion  more  or  less  —  but  the  fact  is,  there  are  heart 
cases  which  can't  be  diagnosed  with  any  certainty 
until  after  —  in  fact,  which  can't  be  diagnosed — " 
said  the  young  man  confusedly.  "  For  instance, 
angina  pectoris,  you  know,  is  often  unassociated  with 
evident  physical  signs." 

Annette  did  not  know.  She  could  not  speak,  but 
made  a  gesture  which  implored  him  to  proceed 
quickly. 

"  I  expect  the  doctor  found  his  nerves  in  rather  a 


THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING        359 

rotten  state,  and  that's  why  he  suggested  a  sea-voy- 
age, and  advised  him  not  to  go  alone.  So  he  asked 
me  to  go  with  him,  and  I  went.  Going  out  there  he 
seemed  to  get  much  better  — "  The  medical  student 
hesitated.  Why  should  he  pain  her  by  going  into 
details  ?  But  after  all,  he  told  her,  for  she  asked  the 
question. 

"  Did  my  letters  upset  him?  " 

"  The  news  he  got  from  home  put  him  into  one  of 
his  rages,"  he  said  frankly.  "  But  you  know  how 
easily  he's  annoyed  by  the  merest  trifle.  If  it  wasn't 
one  thing  it  was  bound  to  be  another.  He'd  been 
warned  to  control  his  temper,  but  his  temper's  been 
his  master  too  long,  I  expect.  He  made  himself  ill, 
and  then  got  frightened  and  let  me  persuade  him  to 
see  a  doctor.  The  doctor  wanted  him  to  stay  out 
there,  and  send  for  you,  but  he  wouldn't.  He  in- 
sisted on  coming  home.  On  the  way  back, —  it's 
no  use  mincing  matters  —  he  got  much  worse. 
He's  had  several  attacks  lately,  and  he  had  one  yes- 
terday. By  bad  luck  he  saw  the  announcement  of 
your  daughter's  elopement,  almost  directly  after  he 
landed.  The  surprise  bowled  him  over  a  bit.  Of 
course  I  don't  know  if  it's  true?  " 

"  It's  true,"  she  said  faintly. 

"  I  was  to  tell  you  he  didn't  mind,"  said  the  young 
man,  hastily. 

"  He  didn't  mind !  "  she  gasped. 

Robert  Bewan  drew  closer,  and  spoke  in  a  lower 
tone. 


360  THE  TYRANT 

"  You  see  he's  not  in  much  of  .a  state  just  now  to 
mind  anything,"  he  said,  confidentially.  "  He's  in 
a  mortal  funk  of  this  beastly  paia  coming  on  again, 
and  the  only  thing  he  can  take  any  interest  in,  for 
the  time  being,  is  the  hope  of  staving  it  off.  You 
and  I  would  be  just  the  same,  you  know,  if  we  were 
in  his  shoes.  When  it's  a  question  of  acute  pain  — 
agony  —  it's  no  use  pretending  people  can  think  of 
anything  else  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  because  they 
can't.  When  one's  seen  the  real  thing,  one  knows. 
All  we  can  do  for  him  is  to  try  and  keep  him  ab- 
solutely quiet.  He  oughtn't  to  hear  or  see  anything 
which  can  irritate  or  upset  him.  He  asked  me  to 
explain  this  to  you.  He  doesn't  want  anyone  but 
you  to  come  near  him.  He  wants  you  to  keep  every- 
body else  away.  And  you've  got  to  be  cheerful." 

Annette  was  crying. 

"  I  know  it's  awful  rough  luck  on  you,"  said  the 
young  man,  in  his  roughly  compassionate  tones,  "  his 
coming  home  like  this." 

"It's  not  that,"  she  murmured.  ;' Wait — for- 
give me.  I  don't  know  what  I'm  saying.  I  — " 

"  I  expect  you  want  a  minute  or  two  to  pull  your- 
self together,  and  no  wonder,"  he  said,  awkwardly, 
but  with  unmistakable  sympathy. 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  stood  looking  out 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  his  face  consider- 
ately averted. 

The  little  wind  had  died  away. 

"  By  Jove,  what  a  perfect  night,"  said  the  medical 


THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING         361 

student,  looking  out  at  the  starlit  sky  above  the  mo- 
tionless tree-tops. 

She  crossed  the  room  and  stood  beside  him. 

u  I  am  calm  now.  It  was  —  the  shock,"  she  said. 
"  I  should  like  to  ask  you  a  few  questions,  and  then 
I  will  go  to  him  without  any  more  delay.  About 
yourself  —  of  course  you  are  staying  here?  " 

"  Thank  you.  Don't  bother  about  me.  Mr. 
Kemys  told  the  man  to  get  a  room  ready.  I'll  look 
after  myself.  There's  nothing  to  keep  you  from 
him." 

"  Have  you  any  instructions  for  me?  " 

"  Not  now.  You'll  see  the  doctor  to-morrow,  you 
know.  He's  sure  to  suggest  something.  I  mustn't 
interfere.  And  your  husband  has  got  the  remedies 
—  but  of  course  you'd  call  me  up  if  he  were  ill  again 
to-night.  I  hope  that's  not  likely,"  he  said  hastily. 
"  There's  nothing  to  do  but  keep  him  quiet  as  I've 
already  said,  and  I  can't  say  it  too  emphatically. 
Keep  him  quiet  and  avoid  contradicting  him.  If 
anything's  happened  during  his  absence  that  would 
be  likely  to  annoy  him  — " 

A  faint  sound  escaped  her  lips  —  almost  like  the 
ghost  of  an  hysterical  laugh,  but  she  mastered  it  in- 
stantly. 

"  I  am  not  to  tell  him?" 

"  No  —  just  keep  it  to  yourself.  Invent  any  ex- 
cuses you  choose.  Don't  let  him  hear  anything  that 
could  vex  him  —  until  he's  better." 

She  looked  at  him.     The  question  trembled  on  her 


362  THE  TYRANT 

pale  lips.  Will  he  ever  be  better  ?  She  did  not  utter 
it,  but  he  answered  the  look. 

"  It's  impossible  to  tell." 

His  eyes  were  compassionate. 

"Has  he  changed?" 

"  I  don't  think  so  —  not  particularly.  He  may  be 
stouter." 

In  the  doorway  she  turned. 

"  My  husband  has  been  —  of  late  years  more  es- 
pecially —  easily  irritated.  Was  it  —  had  the  state 
of  his  health  anything  to  do  with  it?  "  She  looked 
at  him  once  more;  this  time  with  parted  lips  that 
trembled  slightly,  and  an  expression  that  uncon- 
sciously besought  an  affirmative  answer. 

*  Yes,  yes,  yes"  he  said  almost  violently.  "  Of 
course  it  had.  Everything  in  the  world  to  do  with 
it." 

The  glance  with  which  she  thanked  him,  with  its 
pathetic  lightening  of  relief  and  wonder  and  gladness, 
was  again  more  eloquent  than  words. 

She  hurried  out  of  the  room,  and  he  turned  away 
with  a  lump  in  his  throat  and  tears  in  his  twinkling 
grey  eyes. 

"  Whether  that's  true  or  not  —  but  it's  my  belief 
he  was  just  born  with  a  devil  of  a  temper  —  she  may 
as  well  have  the  comfort  of  thinking  so,"  said  the 
medical  student. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  GARDEN 

THE  change  in  the  appearance  of  Richard  Kemys 
might  escape  the  eyes  of  a  stranger,  but  it  did  not 
escape  the  eyes  of  his  wife.  The  candles  on  the 
dressing-table  were  lighted,  and  the  night  moths,  at- 
tracted through  the  open  window,  were  hovering 
about  the  flames.  The  dim  illumination  enabled  her 
to  perceive  that  he  was  a  little  thinner  in  face, —  a 
little  stouter  in  figure,  and  that  the  thick  hair  on  his 
temples  had  turned  white. 

He  was  lying  back  in  the  armchair  by  the  window 
when  she  opened  the  door,  and  he  did  not  move  as 
she  crossed  the  room  and  came  and  knelt  beside  him, 
and  put  her  slight  arm  about  his  broad  shoulders, 
and  laid  her  soft  face  against  his  rough  chin. 

"  Dear  Richard  —  you  have  come  home  to  me, 
thank  God." 

"  You've  seen  Bewan,"  he  said  gruffly. 

"  Yes,  he  told  me  all  you  wished.  It  shall  all  be 
done.  I  will  take  care  of  you,  and  you'll  get  well 
here,  in  the  quiet." 

He  did  not  answer,  but  as  she  pressed  his  arm 
very  gently,  she  felt  an  answering  pressure.     So  lit- 
tle had  she  expected  response  that  her  heart  leapt. 
363 


364  THE  TYRANT 

Richard  remained  motionless  within  those  encir- 
cling arms,  leaning  his  head  against  her  as  though  he 
were  deriving  some  consolation,  after  all,  from  the 
consciousness  of  her  presence  —  of  her  enveloping 
tenderness  and  devotion,  that  would  be  enlisted  in 
his  service  against  every  ill  that  could  befall  him  in 
this  world. 

Annette  fought  with  the  emotion  that  threatened 
to  subdue  her,  and  conquered  it. 

As  she  knelt  beside  her  husband,  with  her  thin  face 
set,  and  her  light  blue  eyes  fixed, —  no  one  could  have 
guessed  the  passion  of  awakened  love  and  longing 
and  sorrow  that  throbbed  in  her  heart. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  this  revelation  of  Richard's 
illness  had  restored  him  to  her  as  the  man  she  had 
once  believed  him  to  be. 

Recollections  of  his  past  ebullitions  of  temper,  his 
unreason,  his  causeless  anger,  his  petty  meanness  and 
despotism,  long  endured  and  regretted  with  shame 
and  tears  —  all  —  all  —  fell  away  from  the  image 
they  had  disfigured  like  so  many  ugly  wrappings,  to 
be  for  ever  discarded. 

They  were  not  Richard's  attributes,  but  the  symp- 
toms of  the  dread  hidden  disease  from  which  he  had 
suffered  in  secret. 

The  man  who  now  leant  against  her  bosom  hiding 
his  feelings  with  sullen  indomitable  courage  —  this 
was  the  Richard  she  had  adored.  She  longed  to  cry 
out  to  him  all  her  pity  and  tenderness  and  admiration 
as  she  longed  to  confess  to  him  her  own  unworthiness. 


THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  GARDEN    365 

She  had  thought  so  many  times  of  the  way  in  which 
he  would  come  back.  Of  his  asking  for  the  children 
who  were  absent,  of  the  explanations  she  would  have 
to  give,  of  the  brunt  of  his  anger  which  she  would 
have  to  bear.  Waking  and  sleeping  she  had  dreamt 
of  his  return.  She  had  seen  him  always  as  Richard 
the  avenger,  towering  over  her,  with  loud  voice  and 
angry  eyes,  demanding  an  account  of  her  steward- 
ship. But  of  this  broken  man  lying  back  exhausted  in 
his  chair,  with  the  sad  helpless  look  of  pain  in  his 
blue  eyes,  the  deep  furrow  between  his  brows,  and 
his  thick  hair  whitened  at  the  temples  —  she  had 
never  thought. 

How  had  Richard  changed  thus?  Was  it  indeed 
the  master-tyrant  Pain  that  had  subdued  and  be- 
wildered him,  and  brought  him  to  this  quiet  that  was 
so  unlike  the  Richard  she  had  known  ?  Or  was  it, — 
oh  was  it  that  he  was,  already,  a  dying  man?  Rich- 
ard !  Impossible.  She  had  looked  upon  him  as  om- 
nipotent so  long  that  her  brain  refused  to  grasp  the 
fact  that  he  was  mortal. 

She  recalled  the  medical  student's  compassionate 
look,  and  a  cold  doubt  crept  about  her  heart.  She 
thought  of  the  long  years  of  her  married  life,  so  mo- 
notonous in  the  living  of  them  that  she  had  sometimes 
asked  herself  wearily  whether  there  would  never  be 
any  change;  and  lo,  now  that  she  had  been  warned 
that  a  change  might  be  at  hand  she  could  not  believe 
it.  How  could  it  come  to  an  end  —  that  familiar 
life  of  everyday  in  the  familiar  house  —  the  life  of 


366  THE  TYRANT 

husband  and  wife  —  of  father  and  mother  sur- 
rounded by  their  children.  Yet  what  could  be  more 
certain  than  that  the  end  must  come,  and  that  the 
common  lot  must  also  be  her  portion  and  Richard's? 
She  adored  her  children.  She  had  sacrificed  her 
peace  of  mind  to  her  desire  for  their  welfare;  but 
just  now  she  realised  them  only  as  the  merciless 
younger  generation,  which  rises  triumphant  as  the 
phoenix,  from  the  ashes  of  its  parents'  loves  and  lives. 
Her  strong,  mighty  Richard  would  lie  down  meekly 
to  sleep  with  his  father,  and  Roddy  the  young,  the 
bold,  the  joyous  —  with  splendid  self-confidence 
would  reign  in  his  stead.  Suddenly  she  saw,  as  she 
had  seen  in  her  dream,  the  grave  smile  of  the  old 
Colonel,  beckoning  her  to  the  Red  House,  and 
realised  with  a  strange  pang  that  she  might  presently 
be  going  back  to  end  her  days  alone  beneath  that 
lowly  roof  which  had  sheltered  her  happy  childhood. 
Had  not  her  father  ended  his  days  there  alone,  who 
had  lived  and  loved  and  suffered  as  she  in  her  turn 
now  lived  and  loved  and  suffered?  She  thought  of 
his  gallant  youth,  which  had  been  a  youth  of 
strenuous  days,  even  as  his  manhood  had  been  one 
of  hard  work  and  small  profit.  She  thought  of  his 
patience  and  cheerfulness  in  old  age,  his  pleasure  in 
little  things,  his  poverty;  the  honourable  poverty, 
honourably  borne,  of  the  soldier  who  has  no  oppor- 
tunity and  should  have  no  occasion  to  seek  wealth. 
Of  his  silent  daily  visits  to  her  mother's  grave.  The 
old  calm  words  floated  through  her  mind,  The 


THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  GARDEN    367 

thing  that  hath  been  it  is  that  which  shall  be,  and 
that  which  is  done  is  that  which  shall  be  done,  and 
there  is  no  new  thing  under  the  sun. 

But  her  heart  cried  out  in  dumb  agony,  Not  Rich- 
ard —  oh  not  Richard  — 

Yet,  if  he  were  really  in  danger  of  death,  then  — 
oh  then  all  the  more  before  he  passed  through  that 
door  of  night  into  the  mystery  whence  there  is  no  re- 
call,—  where  no  pitiful  cry  of  hers  could  reach  him 
—  let  her  confess  her  disloyalty,  and  obtain  his  for- 
giveness. In  this  gentle  mood  that  was  upon  him 
now  she  thought  he  would  forgive  her.  How  could 
she  —  how  could  she  risk  his  going  away  into  the 
eternal  silence  unknowing  that  the  wife  he  trusted 
had  betrayed  him, —  leaving  her  to  bear  that  heavy 
burden  of  remorse  which  a  few  words  spoken  now 
might  ease  for  evermore? 

Yet  she  did  not  speak;  but  set  her  lips  tightly. 

His  eyes  were  closed.     His  face  was  peaceful. 

Oh  Richard,  oh  my  husband,  if  the  world  is  sink- 
ing away  beneath  your  feet, —  if  indeed  you  are 
passing  from  me  —  better  that  I  should  suffer  all  my 
life  than  add  one  pang  to  that  passing  — 

These  and  other  wild  thoughts  coursed  through 
her  brain  as  she  knelt  beside  her  husband  —  motion- 
less, giving  no  sign,  until  presently  she  rose  silently 
to  bring  him  the  things  he  asked  for ;  and  to  help  him 
prepare  for  the  rest  he  desired. 

Richard   for  his  part  asked  no   questions,   and 


3.68  THE  TYRANT 

wished  to  be  asked  none.  He  was  vaguely  glad  that 
his  wife  understood  his  feelings  without  explanation 
as  he  was  vaguely  glad  to  be  with  her  again. 

The  gentleness  of  Annette's  ministrations  had 
never  been  more  welcome. 

He  had  been  so  long  accustomed  to  her  anxious 
consideration  of  all  his  little  ways  and  fancies,  that 
he  had  been  forced,  during  his  absence,  to  realise 
that  he  found  life  almost  blank  without  her.  He  had 
found  himself  wishing  for  her  many  times  during 
his  illness  on  the  return  voyage. 

Though  young  Bewan  meant  kindly,  he  was  but  a 
rough  nurse,  and  had  no  idea  of  humouring  a  surly 
and  unreasonable  patient  as  a  woman  might  have 
humoured  him  under  the  circumstances. 

The  indifference  with  which  his  fellow  passengers 
had  regarded  Richard  Kemys  had  also  come  upon 
him  almost  as  a  shock.  He  had  been  accustomed 
for  so  many  years  to  be  king  of  his  little  company; 
to  be  treated  with  deference;  to  have  his  wishes  im- 
mediately attended  to,  and  his  opinions  received  with 
respect. 

Richard  lay  awake  in  his  comfortable  bed,  among 
the  fresh-scented,  country-washed,  sun-dried  sheets, 
and  realised  with  relief  that  he  was  at  home  again, 
and  that  his  wife  was  at  hand  to  nurse  him.  He 
was  amazed  at  the  depth  of  the  sense  of  well-being 
that  he  experienced.  He  thought  of  Annette  more 
kindly  than  he  had  thought  of  her  for  years.  The 
contemplation  of  her  devotion  soothed  him.  He  did 


THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  GARDEN    369 

not  think  of  his  children.  He  had  asked  Annette 
if  they  were  all  well,  and  she  had  answered,  Yes, 
they  were  all  well.  He  had  not  mentioned  Annie's 
marriage,  lest  something  should  transpire  to  vex  him, 
or  disturb  the  philosophic  calm  with  which  he  had 
grown  to  regard  it.  Nor  had  he  spoken  of  Roddy, 
whom  he  knew  to  be  in  the  Argentine.  He  regarded 
this  fact  also  with  philosophic  calm.  It  was  as  well 
he  should  be  away,  the  young  rascal.  Roddy  irri- 
tated his  father,  often  innocently  and,  unaware, 
though  sometimes  his  rebellion  was  purposeful. 
But  it  was  not  Roddy's  fault  that  he  had  inherited 
the  old  Colonel's  face,  and  his  trick  of  firing  up  in 
defence  of  other  people.  Richard  could  not  help 
remembering  in  the  first  glow  of  his  content  with  his 
return  to  his  wife's  care  —  that  it  was  in  defence  of 
his  mother  that  Roddy  had  always  fired  up. 

The  young  fool,  to  suppose  a  woman  needed  any 
defence  from  her  husband.  As  though  a  man's  wife 
were  not  more  to  him  than  all  her  children  put  to- 
gether. Which  of  them  all  could  be  trusted  to  obey 
him,  to  carry  out  his  wishes,  to  attend  to  his  lightest 
fancies,  as  she  would?  It  was  upon  her  that  he  de- 
pended, as  she  depended  upon  him,  and  not  on 
Roddy.  But  he  remembered  that  he  had  disre- 
garded Annette's  passionate  appeal  on  behalf  of  her 
son,  and  the  recollection  was  an  uncomfortable  one 
now.  He  had  destroyed  her  letter  instead  of  keep- 
ing it  to  read  when  he  was  far  away  as  she  had  en- 
treated; but  nevertheless  he  had  thought  of  it  many 


370  THE  TYRANT 

times  when  he  was  far  away,  and  her  words  had 
haunted  his  memory. 

"  You  asked  me  to  forgive  you  the  night  Roddy 
was  born  .  .  .  how  happy  I  was  to  forgive 
you  —  everything  .  .  .  for  the  sake  of  those  days 
listen  to  me  now  ...  I  can  no  longer  speak  to 
you  without  angering  you  .  .  .  Do  justice  to 
your  son  as  your  father  did  to  you,  that  your  children 
may  honour  your  memory  as  his  memory  is  honoured, 
and  I  will  thank  you  and  bless  you  for  ever  and  ever." 

He  could  see  the  sentences  now  as  plainly  as 
though  they  were  written  in  light  on  the  darkness. 
She  was  more  to  him  than  all  her  children  put  to- 
gether, of  course.  But  he  had  not  listened  to  her 
appeal.  His  mind  worked  uneasily,  but  he  swore  to 
himself  that  he  would  not  reinstate  Roddy,  who 
had  gone  to  the  Argentine  in  defiance  of  his 
wishes  .  .  . 

He  determined  to  dismiss  the  subject  from  his 
mind.  It  was  wonderful,  he  reflected  with  some 
complacency,  what  an  adept  he  had  become  in  dis- 
missing from  his  mind  all  the  subjects  that  might 
distress  or  annoy  him. 

Until  he  was  stronger  he  would  continue  to  exer- 
cise that  newly  acquired  power.  His  wife  could  look 
after  everything;  do  everything  exactly  as  she  knew 
he  would  wish, —  relieve  him  of  all  responsibility. 

A  new  idea  darted  into  his  mind,  and  became  a 
definite  purpose.  What  a  fool  he  had  been  not  to 
think  of  it  before  1 


THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  GARDEN     371 

He  would  get  rid  of  this  vague  scruple  which  had 
been  troubling  his  conscience  ever  since  he  made  that 
infernal  will  disinheriting  his  eldest  son.  He  would 
make  a  new  will  in  the  morning  and  leave  everything 
to  his  wife.  He  would  shift  the  responsibility  for 
which  he  no  longer  felt  fitted  onto  her  shoulders. 
After  all,  if  he  had  any  wishes  left  in  the  matter  he 
had  only  to  express  them  and  he  knew  she  would 
carry  them  out  to  the  letter.  What  did  it  matter 
to  him  who  would  have  Nantgwilt  in  the  end? 
Nothing  mattered  to  him  but  getting  well ;  he  would 
devote  himself  to  the  care  of  his  health.  There 
would  be  far  more  chance  for  him  now  she  was  there 
to  look  after  him.  He  would  leave  everything  to 
her.  He  would  not  be  bothered  with  scruples  any 
more,  nor  with  business,  nor  with  cares  of  any  kind. 

He  would  sit  in  his  garden  and  rest. 

He  had  thought  of  his  garden  very  often  when 
there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  from  the  ship  but  blue 
sky  and  blue  sea,  for  ever  receding  as  the  ship  for 
ever  advanced.  How  tired  he  had  grown  of  it  all. 
He  was  too  old  for  travelling,  though  he  was  but 
in  the  prime  of  life  —  he  had  lived  in  the  country 
too  many  years. 

The  glare  from  the  white  boards  hurt  his  eyes  as 
he  lay  back  in  his  deck-chair.  He  had  thought  of 
his  garden  so  often  then.  Of  the  refreshing  green 
of  the  dewy  velvet  lawn,  and  the  moss  under  the  old 
spreading  cedar  with  its  twisted  trunk,  and  the  little 
brown  bench  that  always  seemed  to  be  waiting 


372  THE  TYRANT 

humbly  beneath  it  with  outstretched  arms;  and  the 
bright  ribbon  borders  ...  he  felt  the  swaying 
motion  of  the  steamer  again  as  he  dreamt  of  his  gar- 
den now  .  .  . 

He  slept  but  a  little  while,  and  woke  complaining 
of  oppression  and  of  the  heat  of  the  room,  though 
the  windows  were  wide  open  and  uncurtained. 

His  wife  rose,  and  set  the  door  open,  and  presently 
fanned  him  until  he  slept  again.  But  the  morning 
seemed  long  in  coming  and  the  dawn  of  a  breathless 
summer  day  found  him  tired  and  unrefreshed. 

He  looked  so  ill  that  his  wife  was  terrified,  but  of 
her  terror  she  showed  no  sign. 

She  was  thankful  that,  though  he  insisted  upon 
rising,  he  did  not  offer  to  come  downstairs,  remaining 
instead  by  the  open  window  of  their  bedroom,  look- 
ing out  from  his  armchair  upon  the  wonderful  sun- 
shine which  had  now  pierced  the  early  mists  of  morn- 
ing and  lay  like  a  benediction  upon  the  garden  of 
which  he  had  dreamed. 

A  little  figure  in  white  emerged  from  the  deep 
shadows  of  the  ilex  grove.  Corney  —  followed  by 
his  dog,  walking  gravely  and  quietly  across  the  lawn, 
not  running  and  jumping  as  was  his  wont. 

He  had  been  to  his  grandmother's  cottage  to  carry 
a  message  from  his  mother.  In  the  sunshine  his  un- 
covered flaxen  head  shone  like  gold,  and  his  white 
cricketing  flannels  were  dazzling  as  snow  against  the 
green.  Richard  Kemys  found  a  lump  rising  in  his 


THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  GARDEN    373 

throat  and  tears  in  his  eyes.  This  was  the  first  he 
had  seen  of  his  children  since  his  return.  Corney 
was  a  fine,  handsome  little  fellow  —  just  such  another 
as  Roddy  had  been  at  his  age.  He  was  almost  angry 
with  himself  for  the  emotion  which  he  felt,  and 
which  he  recollected  that  he  must  not  indulge,  just 
as  he  was  leaning  forward  to  give  a  call  to  the  little 
boy,  and  bid  him  come  up. 

Corney  was  a  fine  little  chap,  and  the  most  like  him 
of  all  his  children,  but  he  was  like  Roddy  too.  Why 
should  he  suppose  the  boy  would  grow  up  different 
from  the  others ;  who  all  went  their  own  way  as  they 
left  childhood,  and  paid  no  attention  to  his  wishes? 

He  remembered  the  idea  he  had  evolved  in  the 
night  and  resolved  to  put  it  into  execution. 

He  rose  languidly  and  fetched  his  leather  writing- 
case  from  the  dressing-room,  and  settled  himself  in 
his  armchair  to  write.  It  was  odd  that  so  slight  an 
exertion  should  make  him  so  breathless.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  he  ought  to  have  listened  to  Bewan  and  not 
climbed  the  hill  from  the  station  last  night  — 

Robert  Bewan  came  in  presently  to  bid  him  good- 
bye, and  found  him  writing. 

"  Why  should  you  go?  I  asked  you  to  stop,"  said 
Richard,  none  too  graciously. 

"  I  only  meant  to  stop  until  I'd  seen  you  safely 
down  here,"  said  the  young  man,  in  his  usual  blunt 
way.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  want  to  get  back." 

"  Of  course  you'll  do  as  you  like,"  growled  Rich- 
ard. Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  had,  after  all, 


374  THE  TYRANT 

no  further  use  for  young  Bewan,  since  he  was  safely 
established  at  home.  He  reflected  besides  that  as 
he  had  never  found  his  company  particularly  con- 
genial, there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  press  him 
to  stay  on.  He  therefore  did  not  renew  his  invita- 
tion, but,  bethinking  himself,  gave  utterance  to  a 
few  difficult  words  of  thanks ;  not  very  graciously  ex- 
pressed, but  nevertheless  genuine  in  their  way,  as 
Robert  Bewan  felt  them  to  be,  though  he  cut  them 
short. 

'  We  needn't  make  speeches,"  he  remarked 
frankly.  "  I've  every  reason  to  be  obliged  to  you. 
If  the  voyage  hasn't  done  you  all  the  good  we  hoped, 
it's  pulled  me  together  and  made  me  feel  as  fit  as  I 
ever  felt  in  my  life.  I  shall  tackle  my  work  again 
with  fresh  vigour,  thanks  to  you.  And  if  I  don't 
pretend  to  be  particularly  cut  up  at  parting,  it's  not 
because  I'm  ungrateful  for  the  substantial  benefit 
you've  conferred  on  me,  but  because  we  haven't  hit 
it  off  as  well  as  I  could  have  wished.  I'm  a  free  and 
easy  fellow  who  often  gives  offence  without  meaning 
to.  But  on  the  other  hand,  hard  words  break  no 
bones  and  I'm  not  a  fellow  to  resent  anything  a  man 
says  when  he's  ill,  you  know;  and  I  hope  I've  done 
the  best  I  could  for  you,  whether  we've  liked  each 
other  or  not." 

Richard  Kemys  uttered  a  short  laugh. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  did  the  best  you  could,"  he  said, 
grimly.  "  I've  no  doubt  I  should  have  gone  out  on 
the  voyage  home  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you.  Whether 


THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  GARDEN    375 

I  shall  live  to  bless  you  for  it  remains  to  be  seen. 
All  the  same  I  don't  feel  up  to  much  this  morning. 
D'ye  thing  I'm  worse  ?  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  you're  any  the  better  for  your 
foolhardiness  in  walking  up  from  the  station  last 
night,"  said  the  student,  bluntly.  "  What  possessed 
you,  I  can't  think." 

Richard  did  not  answer. 

"  I  suppose  I'd  better  see  old  Harries,"  he  said 
presently. 

"  Of  course  you  had,"  said  young  Bewan,  but  if  his 
words  were  rough,  his  tone  was  kind.  "  Is  there 
anything  I  can  do  for  you  before  I  take  my  de- 
parture? " 

'  You  can  call  old  Pryse  upstairs,  and  witness  my 
signature  here  with  him,"  said  Richard,  and  he 
smoothed  out  a  clearly  written  paper  upon  the  blot- 
ter before  him,  with  hands  that  trembled  a  little. 

Later  in  the  day  Dr.  Harries  arrived.  He  re- 
mained but  a  short  time,  for  it  was  evident  that  his 
presence  rather  irritated  than  soothed  his  patient, 
and  beyond  suggesting  a  preferable  drug  to  one  of 
those  ordered  by  the  ship's  surgeon,  and  commending 
all  the  rest,  he  had  very  little  to  say.  But  he  told 
Mrs.  Kemys  as  he  went  downstairs  that  he  felt  it  his 
duty  to  warn  her  that  her  husband  was  in  an  alarm- 
ing condition  of  health.  She  did  not  need  the  warn- 
ing, but  she  listened  to  all  he  had  to  say,  declined  his 
offer  to  send  a  nurse,  and  asked  him  to  convey  his 


report  to  old  Mrs.  Kemys,  who  was  anxiously  await- 
ing news  at  the  cottage.  He  took  his  leave,  promis- 
ing an  early  visit  on  the  morrow. 

The  news  of  the  Squire's  return  had  by  this  time 
spread  through  the  village,  and  speculation  ran  high 
as  to  how  he  had  received  the  intelligence  of  his 
daughter's  elopement,  which  was  now  the  favourite 
topic  of  conversation  in  the  neighbourhood.  The 
report  that  he  had  fallen  down  in  a  fit  obtained 
credit  when  the  doctor's  trap  was  seen  at  the  door  of 
the  Manor  House,  and  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon 
several  of  his  tenants,  and  one  or  two  neighbours  — 
from  motives  of  sympathy  or  out  of  curiosity  — 
called  to  enquire ;  but  no  one  was  permitted  to  enter ; 
and  old  Pryse  had  nothing  to  say  except  that  he  had 
seen  his  master,  who  looked  much  as  usual. 

As  the  day  wore  on  Richard  observed  that  the 
house  was  strangely  quiet,  and  found  pleasure  in  the 
reflection  that  his  instructions  had  been  so  implicitly 
obeyed,  and  that  here  at  least  no  one  was  considered 
but  himself.  The  children  made  no  sound  lest  he 
should  be  disturbed. 

His  wife  dreaded  lest  he  should  ask  for  those  who 
were  absent,  and  for  whose  absence  she  would  be 
obliged  to  account;  but  there  was  no  need  for  her  to 
invent  the  excuses  young  Bewan  had  recommended. 
Richard  asked  no  questions,  and  showed  no  interest 
in  anything  outside  the  room  in  which  he  lay.  He 


THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  GARDEN    377 

thought  only  of  the  comfort  of  being  quiet,  and  of 
his  fears  lest  the  pain  should  return. 

He  dozed  during  the  greater  part  of  the  after- 
noon refusing  the  tea  his  wife  brought,  and  desiring, 
he  said,  to  make  up  for  his  restless  night  by  sleeping 
as  much  as  possible. 

When  the  heat  of  the  sun  declined,  and  the  long 
shadows  fell  across  the  lawn,  he  woke  refreshed,  and 
rose,  and  asked  for  some  soup,  which  he  took  beside 
the  open  window ;  watching  the  swifts  that  darted  to 
and  fro  in  the  still  warm  air,  crying  shrilly  as  they 
pursued  their  invisible  prey. 

He  looked  ever  more  and  more  longingly  into  the 
garden,  until  at  last  he  decided  to  descend. 

"  I've  a  good  mind  to  spend  the  night  out  there," 
he  said  to  his  wife.  "  I've  got  accustomed  to  sleep 
in  the  open  air  on  board  ship.  I  slept  on  deck  when- 
ever this  infernal  breathlessness  troubled  me,  and  it 
troubles  me  directly  I  lie  down." 

She  looked  at  him  and  saw  that  opposition  would 
be  useless. 

"Why  not,  dear  Richard?  After  all  the  heat  is 
really  almost  tropical.  I  have  been  sitting  out  later 
and  later  every  night." 

"  I  don't  want  a  fuss,  and  people  bringing  out  rugs 
and  pillows  and  things  as  if  I  were  an  invalid,"  he 
growled.  "  You  can  tell  Pryse  to  carry  my  deck- 
chair  onto  the  lawn,  and  to  leave  it  there,  and  to 
keep  everyone  away;  and  we'll  wait  till  the  house  is 


378  THE  TYRANT 

shut  up  and  they've  all  gone  to  bed,  and  then  slip 
out  quietly." 

She  was  relieved  that  he  seemed  to  take  it  for 
granted  that  she  would  remain  out  with  him. 

The  stillness  and  peace  of  the  coming  night  al- 
ready enfolded  the  garden.  The  summer  darkness 
stole  over  the  blue  hills  deepening  to  purple.  The 
feast  of  colour  spread  in  the  flower  borders 
slowly  faded.  Stiff  perfumed  bouquets  of  red  roses 
on  standards  now  became  indistinguishable  from 
their  foliage;  while  the  heavy  white  heads  of  the 
drooping  niphetos  were  transformed  into  delicate 
phantom  globes. 

Over  an  archway  a  bower  of  blush  roses  gleamed 
faintly  through  the  dusk.  The  snowy  phlox,  the 
ghosts  of  lilies  and  white  foxgloves,  were  still  dis- 
cernible. 

The  dusk  deepened,  and  the  colours  vanished 
altogether.  Even  the  white  flowers  folded  the  black 
veil  of  night  about  them  and  became  invisible. 

The  cool  and  restful  space  was  peopled  only  with 
the  forms  of  the  trees  and  bushes.  Dark  masses  of 
foliage  waved  and  whispered  in  the  night  breeze,  but 
the  impenetrable  sheltering  layers  of  the  cedar 
scarcely  stirred  .  .  .  If  he  had  been  sleeping 
Richard  woke. 

"  Annette  I    Are  you  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Richard."  She  sought  his  hand  and  found 
it  in  the  darkness. 


THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  GARDEN    379 

"  I  was  dreaming.  I  forgot  where  I  was.  I 
thought  I  was  on  board  ship.  It  was  a  happy 
thought  to  come  out  here.  I'm  much  more  comfort- 
able than  I  was  last  night. —  Look  here,  Annette.  I 
made  a  new  will  this  morning.  If  anything  hap- 
pened to  me  —  I  suppose  that  fellow  made  it  clear  to 
you  that  there's  always  more  or  less  uncertainty  in 
these  cases  — ?  " 

She  laid  her  lips  upon  his  hand  in  silence. 

"  If  anything  happened  —  take  it  to  old  Turley, 
and  get  him  to  act  for  you.  Have  nothing  to  do 
with  Machon.  Go  back  to  Turley.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

"  I  understand,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  trembled. 

"  Turley  can  communicate  with  Joavan  and  Bond. 
They're  all  sound  men,"  he  said  gruffly.  "  I've  left 
everything  to  you.  I  want  Corney  to  have  the  busi- 
ness. You'll  remember  that.  He's  a  third  son, 
same  as  I  was.  It's  my  wish  he  should  be  richer 
than  the  others,  and  he  will  be,  if  he  chooses  to  work 

—  old  Bond  will  teach  him.     About  all  the  rest  —  I 
don't  care.     I've  left  the  responsibility  to  you.     You 
can  do  what  you're  pleased  to  call  justice  —  to  Roddy 

—  to  all  of  them." 
"Oh  Richard!" 

He  felt  her  tears  upon  his  hand,  and  knew  her 
gratitude,  and  did  not  mistake  the  cause.  Perhaps 
he  even  divined  something  of  her  thought. 

That  justice  should  be  done  to  her  boy  was  much ; 
but  that  he  should  do  it  was  everything. 


3 8o  THE  TYRANT 

Roddy  was  very  dear  to  her;  but  what  was  he, 
what  was  anyone,  compared  with  this  her  mate;  the 
lover  of  her  girlhood,  the  husband  of  her  youth,  the 
father  of  her  children? 

Her  heart  throbbed,  her  tears  fell  fast,  her  past 
fears  mocked  her,  and  her  remorse  rushed  upon  her 
with  a  force  almost  unbearable. 

The  lost  illusion  of  Richard's  perfection  stole  back 
upon  her,  forming  itself  as  a  vision  upon  the  darkness 
of  many  years'  sorrow  and  suffering  and  disappoint- 
ment. 

After  all,  the  man  to  whose  image  she  had  always 
clung  in  her  heart  of  hearts  was  the  real  Richard, 
though  all  the  world  had  condemned  the  man  he  had 
seemed  to  be. 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Richard's  voice,  drowsily. 
"  I  was  dreaming  I  had  something  to  tell  you,  and 
that  I  was  off  on  another  voyage  and  couldn't  get  at 
you.  Now  I've  nothing  on  my  mind  I  shall  have  a 
longer  sleep." 

He  slept,  and  she  waked  and  watched. 

In  all  her  life  she  had  never  passed  a  night  out  of 
doors,  and  she  felt  no  inclination  to  slumber.  She 
drew  her  wraps  about  her,  and  waited  for  the  dawn, 
listening  with  a  tenderness  inexpressible  to  his  gentle 
breathing. 

At  four  o'clock  the  sky  was  already  a  clear  pale 
blue,  and  little  cirrus  clouds  stretched  lazily  in  the 
depths  of  space.  On  the  waking  earth  birds  twit- 


THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  GARDEN    381 

tercd,  cocks  crowed,  and  horses  neighed;  but  man- 
kind was  silent. 

Richard's  chair  was  turned  away  from  the  house 
towards  the  distant  hills  beyond  his  own  fields  and 
woods,  which  sloped  down  to  the  valley  and  river, 
and  were  now  shrouded  in  a  thick  white  mist ;  against 
which  one  or  two  of  the  nearest  forest  trees  showed 
motionless. 

He  lay  so  still  that  a  vague  uneasiness  disturbed 
her.  She  rose,  and  came  softly  to  his  side,  and  bent 
over  his  sleeping  face.  The  colour  fled  from  her 
own,  leaving  it  not  less  white.  She  sank  upon  her 
knees  and  lifted  the  cold  hand. 

There  was  no  doubt.  She  knew  instantly;  and 
from  the  perfect  calm  of  his  expression  under- 
stood that  he  must  have  passed  unknowing  —  from 
sleep  to  death. 

The  glory  of  the  coming  sunrise  slowly  brightened 
the  east,  and  the  solid  white  mist  caught  a  rosy  hue, 
and  became  transparent  and  golden. 

The  muffled  forms  of  distant  tress  emerged  as 
from  a  shroud,  and  took  shape  and  colour. 

The  crowning  roses  of  the  garden  archways  were 
lit  as  though  by  fire.  The  trunks  of  the  firs  shone 
red,  and  the  slender  stems  of  the  weeping  birch 
glittered  silver  in  the  glorious  beams  as  the  sun  rose 
majestically  over  the  hills. 

THE  END 


A     000  051  443     o 


